Closer
by Riseha
Summary: My life took a completely different turn when I woke up in prison Nurmengard and found that I'd switched bodies with a girl named Germaine Grindelwald. (SI-Unstable-OC) Quite AU.
1. Chapter 1

**CLOSER**  
>by: Riseha<p>

**Summary:** AU, Semi-self-insert: Waking up is something I do everyday, waking up in the world of Harry Potter—high up in the prison Nurmengard in the body of one Germaine Grindewald—is not something I do everyday. You can't say I love my life now.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything, just my OC.

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><p><strong>Preface<strong>

When I came to, I was only aware of the splitting headache I was having. The next sensation was that I'm lying on my back, on a cold, hard surface and something constricting on top of me.

It was a soft, fluffy material but it didn't smell nice—in fact, it was the complete opposite. With great difficulty, I cracked an eye open, trying to ignore the pain pounding in my head, to assess my situation.

Had I been mugged? I do recall walking down the street but it was a crowded place, surely no one would be brave enough to rob someone in bright daylight? Speaking of daylights, where had the sun gone to?

It was dark and my eyes needed a few moments to adjust even with the dim light hanging from the wall. I stared, in utter disbelief, at the room—it wasn't even a room.

Where am I?

I pushed myself into a sitting position, only mildly surprised to hear the clinks of chains as I moved. I glanced down at my chained hands, refraining from screaming. The bars fitting in was quite telling—I was in a cell, a prison, somewhere. The material covering me was in fact a very dirty, yellowed comforter. Beside me was a lumpy and worn rabbit stuffed-toy, the button that made up its right eye was close to falling out, hanging on only by a red thread.

I stood, capable of standing but I felt dizzy. The headache was slowly fading as the fear started settling in. Where am I? Why would I be in prison? I did nothing wrong!

My mouth worked soundlessly, and I was suddenly aware of how dry my throat was. "Water," I croaked. "I need water... someone—!" I broke off, coughing, I pounded my chest to ease the pain.

"Here," a soft, rasping voice said. I whirled around, facing a dark corner that I hadn't paid much attention to before. There was someone there, sitting with their knees drawn to their chest. Judging from the voice, it was a he and sounded quite old... or maybe he doesn't talk much.

I was wary but the temptation of soothing the ache in my throat lulled me to him. I approached cautiously, body tense, ready to run at the first sign of danger. It was awkward to move, I mean, as if this wasn't my body. I glanced down at my hands, startled to find them so pale, so white they glowed but what shocked me even more was how... thin those arms were, emaciated hands.

I took the bottle gingerly and drank greedily. The water wasn't clean and tasted sour, probably contaminated, but I didn't care. I was too thirsty at the moment.

Once my parched throat had been soothed, I set the bottle down and warily eyed the old man. He shifted, and I could feel his gaze on me. He had startling blue eyes, so bright they reminded me of laser beams. Surprising for someone so old and his eyes were filled with awareness and intelligence—brimming with cunning.

"What're you planning?" I asked before I could think twice about it. The correct question should be: _who're you_. Did I mention I was a little backwards? The people around me said I had fucked up priorities. Meanie.

The old man didn't hesitate to give up information. "We planned this yesterday," he said, voice soft and tenuous. I wondered how much longer he had left to live. "We screwed up yesterday but today, we'll succeed. You're getting out of here one way or another, Germaine."

_Germaine? Did he just call me Germaine?_

"Um, my name's Anne...?" Was he senile? Perhaps he's confusing me with somebody but I wasn't about to point that out to him. I scratched the itch in my head. I was ready to get out of here even if it means stealing someone else's chances of escaping. The room was looking smaller with every passing second and I'm pretty sure I'm claustrophobic.

"I've never cared about nicknames—now, listen to me—the guard will bring our lunch to us and I'll be playing dead, then you'd be screaming, acting shocked, whatever flows your boat—make it convincing—" He coughed, so hard that his whole body rocked.

"Er, are you okay?"

He waved me off and stood, he was a stooped old man and he looked emaciated too. I sprang to my feet, hurrying after him. What surprised me was the fact that I'm even smaller than him. Which was unusual, I was tall and I'm taller than every old people I'd met.

However, as we were in the middle of planning my escape, I was just anxious about it. Who cares if I shrunk? Getting free and getting answers were on my top-list of priority.

I strained my ears, then I heard it: the sound of approaching footsteps.

That's when the old man swayed and fell to his side, limp. I was so shocked I shrieked. I didn't even need to act, my horror was convincing enough and it brought whoever it was—a guard—running. Surprise was etched onto his features, he dropped the tray of food he was holding and scrambled over.

"What—what—" He seemed as shocked as I was being. "Shut up," he growled at me.

I flinched; he was young but he was menacing. He was cussing softly, in another language, as he fumbled with a long, thin wood. He tapped the padlock and the bars swung open. His stick was held aloft before him, he eyed the old man warily.

_Move,_ a voice whispered in my head.

I shoved the guard and ran for it, still very much confused and knew absolutely nothing. I just ran for it, adrenaline pumping in my veins, blood roaring in my ears—this jailbird was making a break for it.

.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

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><p>.<p>

I didn't know where I was going. All that registered was that there were very few guards and whenever I ran into one, I either bowl them over or just swerve out of the way. Oddly enough, I didn't feel tired even though my stamina wasn't good due to the lack of exercise.

It surprised me that I could run so fast and so long. I chalked this up to adrenalin. The rest of the prisoners were howling, disjointed sounds but through the braid of misery and cheers, I heard a few helpful ones shouting advice.

_Go down,_ they shouted. _You're on the fourth floor! Just three more floors to go!_

I had no choice but to take them up on their suggestion. I didn't know my surroundings and this had to be the tallest fucking prison in the entire universe. Why so high up?

I tripped a few times but I didn't pay much attention, I didn't even bother looking back to see if there were guards chasing me, I just concentrated on running.

Perhaps there were automatic sensors on the doors because each door I encountered burst open whenever I was close to slamming face-first into it.

At long last, my bare feet—don't ask how, I distinctly remembered wearing sneakers—hit paved ground. It was slick with dust and I was very close to slipping and falling on my bum a few times But I managed to struggle through. The double doors—the largest set of doors I had seen so far—gave away what it was instantly: the main entrance.

Or, to me, the main exit.

Magically, the double doors swung opened, albeit a little reluctantly and slower than the rest of the doors, and I dashed past without a second thought, crossing the threshold and into the forest.

Whoa... forest?

I was still running, feet pounding on dirt path, but my eyes were taking everything in with hungry eyes, trying desperately to answer the questions popping up in my head. First thing first, find a river. If I followed the flow of the stream, I would probably find a settlement and would be able to get help.

I'm starting to think the place I escaped from wasn't an official prison to keep law-breakers, rather, it was a place constructed to hold innocent hostage. I _had_ to phone the authorities and get those bastard arrested and free those innocent, driven-mad hostages.

I ran and ran and didn't stop until I felt a stitch in my chest, slowing me down considerably to a jog. It was like a dozen knives stabbing my side. Adrenaline was draining and I suppose that must be why—I was exhausted, my legs were numb and shaking, barely obeying what my brain was ordering it to do: keep moving.

_I'm at my limit!_ my legs protested.

Weariness and sleepiness settled in; I stumbled a few more steps to the right before falling heavily to the ground, cheek pressed uncomfortably onto dry leaves and twigs dug into my palms.

I was too tired to care; I closed my eyes and let myself slip.

.

I woke to the sun shining in my face. This was a refreshing change from the headache I'd woken up to in the cell. Recalling my short experience in the cell jolted me to full consciousness. I sprang to my feet, whirling around, taking in my surroundings to make sure no one was within vicinity.

There was no one there.

This was both a good and a bad thing. I was hopelessly lost but on the other hand, this meant that my captors wouldn't find me so easily.

Or maybe they knew this forest much better than I did and were now maneuvering easily to where I currently stand.

That thought prompted me to start moving. I brushed the leaves in my hair and scrubbed my skin raw, trying to free myself from the dirt. I alternated between scratching my scalp and skin; I had rashes, probably from the unhygienic place. I grimaced in disgust, I needed a bath and I really needed to know how long had passed since I was kidnapped.

My family and friends would be so worried—which was good, it meany that they were currently looking high and low for me.

Now that I was (mostly) out of danger, I could inspect details I'd overlooked before. I was short, I had shrunk, I was in a different body.

Perhaps those guys were mad scientists, testing new technology. I was positive my hair wasn't this shade of murky brown color, it was black. And my skin was never this pale, this white, as if I had never been under the sun before. I was considerably short and once I measured myself against a tree, I surmised this body to be that of a child's, coupled with the undeveloped breasts, a kid below the age of twelve.

This was wholly disturbing. _Where's my body? What're they doing to it? Where's the kid who own this body? Had we switched?_

Unanswered questions swam in my mind but I didn't falter, I kept moving. Once I get help, everything would be okay. Now all I had to do was find a stream, follow the flow and get out of here.

But it wasn't without its perks. A kid's body had more stamina, it was no wonder I could run as fast as I did last night. If I had been in my body, I would've been caught within seconds. (I'm not fat, just big- and heavy-boned.)

Or maybe I could make a compass. No, what good will it do when I didn't even know where I stand? All I know was that the prison was behind me, somewhere and if I keep going ahead, I'd be safer... from violence and being killed by human hands. In the forest, there might be wild beasts ready to gore me or tear me to shreds. Neither was an inviting prospect.

Then from all four cardinal points, roared voices as one: "Stupefy!"

I had enough sense and the kid's body's excellent reflexes to flatten myself on the ground, eyes squeezed shut in alarm, as a ball of energy collided above me, whip whipped my hair in all directions from the impact. I didn't dare get to my feet. My heart sank when the robed people stepped out from the shadows. I had been caught.

_Why is this happening to me?_

.

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><p><strong>A.N:<strong> I noticed a few things wrong with my other SI—which I will be polishing soon enough—so I decided to start a new one. The second chapter will be up shortly.

Also, can you guys recommend good Harry Potter SI stories?

_Review and tell me what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

**CLOSER**  
>by: Riseha<p>

**Disclaimer: **I don't and will never ever own this except for the OC.

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Chapter** **2:**  
><em>Bathilda Bagshot<em>

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><p>I flinched violently when the lead man raised the long, thin wood. <em>A wand<em>, hissed an insistent voice in my mind, _that's a wand, I've never held one but I always see it on the guards, Grandpa always points it out to me, says that someday, I'm going to learn how to use that if I ever want to escape Nurmengard_—

My mind went blank with shock.

I was sure my mouth was flapping wordlessly, unable to string a proper sentence together. I glanced around, hoping desperately for someone to jump up and yell, "April's Fool!" or maybe even "Happy Birthday! This is a surprise we prepped for you since we know you love mysteries so much!" but not such thing happened.

My instinct screamed danger and urged me to run regardless of how low my chances of escaping were.

I refuse to accept it but... a wand... the spell, Stupefy, they'd shouted... it all leads to one thing... I'm in the world of—of—

If I just calm down, I can see sense, there must be a logical explanation...

Right. I'm in a different world: that was the explanation.

"Surrender yourself, girl," snapped the robed man, his wand pointed right between my eyes. I stiffened but I didn't dare move in case he struck at the first sign of hostility. "Or you'll be in for a world of pain."

My mouth was completely dry. Still, I managed to find my voice, "But—but—I'm a kid!" I said, indignantly and it wasn't hard to fake. "What did I do wrong?"

The man shrugged carelessly. "Minister's orders, now come quietly and we wouldn't lay a hand on you." I didn't believe him for one second. But no matter where I look, I couldn't see any hope. No one here was ready to offer me a proper reason.

_Snatch the wand_, hissed the voice again,_ take it and fight back. Death or freedom—I refuse to be locked up again!_

I was about to knock his hand away, ripping the wand from his hand in one go, when a twig snapped. I gazed past the man's shoulder to see someone approaching.

The old man carried himself with urgency, sky-blue robes swishing around his long legs, but he didn't trip like I did even though I wasn't wearing long robes. I glared balefully at him, finding him only vaguely familiar with silvery hair, long beard, half-moon glasses and blue eyes.

Unfriendly, wary blue eyes. In his hand, he too, held a wand.

"What is the meaning of this?" he whispered, blue eyes penetrating, sweeping across the clearing to take in the whole scene properly. He needn't raise his voice to be heard. "You said Grindelwald escaped and this... this is not but a child!"

I was sweating cold-sweat, fists clenched tightly to stop myself from trembling. Nevertheless, my eyes were wide as I gaped at him. I was starting to have an inkling as to who he was.

"The kid is Grindelwald," said a man to my right, voice timid. "Grindelwald Jr, I mean. She's his great-grandchild."

You could hear a pin drop from another country. The intimidating old man stared at me in utter disbelief, he didn't seem to have heard the man who spoke. However, he did, because he said, "Your Ministry... kept a child locked up?" He studied me, as if I was an adult in a child's body.

Technically, I was, but he didn't need to know that.

The man pointing his wand at me faltered slightly, I could see his grip on his wand loosening and the voice within my head screamed _now!_ but I didn't budge, if that old man is who I think he was, then I'd stand no chance, wand or no wand.

"Grindelwald Sr was being difficult, sir," he gulped, hazel eyes clouded with fear and apprehension. Despite my situation which wasn't that much better, I felt a sick sense of satisfaction. Now you know how it feels like to be terrified, bastard. "So, so, the Minister ordered us to use her as... as a control. If he acts up, we'd hurt her. And—and—we didn't plan to keep her here forever! The Minister wants her to be trained, to be loyal to him and our country—a loyal soldier!"

Grindelwald? _Grindelwald?_

I was too shocked to say anything.

Then, voice deadly soft, the old man spoke, "How long?"

"What?"

"How long has she been kept in Nurmengard?"

The hazel-eyed man was obviously weighing the pros and cons of answering. He cast me a dark look as if it was my fault. I refrained from sneering because my fate was currently being decided. Finally, the man spat, "Seven years. She was brought in when she was three."

The old man's blue eyes flared behind his half-moon glasses. "Child," he said softly to me, beckoning with his free hand. "Come here."

I didn't hesitate for long. The alternative was standing in front of a wand that seemed quite capable of blasting me to pieces. I darted to the old man, his hand falling on my bony shoulder in comfort and probably to stop me from running off. "I will be having a word with your Minister."

His eyes softened a fraction when he saw me. Then he waved his wand and everything went black.

.

I was getting sick of passing out.

Groaning, I forced my eyelids open, and instantly squeezed it shut when blinding light pierced my retinas. Through the gaps between my fingers, I slowly adjusted to the artificial light glaring down at me. I gazed at the ceiling, noticing that this looks very Muggle.

I was on the alert.

Does this mean that everything was just a dream?

I heaved a sigh of relief. Now that was a very odd dream. I glanced to my side and my world crashed down on me. The old man who'd (so far) saved me from being thrown back into prison was sitting beside me, gazing down at me with kind concern.

So much for all of that being a dream...

I let out a soft groan, rubbing the balls of my palms into my eyes; when I removed my hands, he was still sitting there. He broke the silence first when I was no closer to speaking. He didn't know I was working my way around the shock. "Germaine, was it?"

I nodded dumbly.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired, tone gentle.

"Fine," I said, then my stomach growled. Very loudly I might add. I didn't feel abashed, I was hungry and this was a normal thing. "And I want to eat."

"Ah, yes, the Healers had said you're severely emaciated and you would undoubtedly be hungry." He placed a platter of foreign food in front of me. I'd never seen such dishes (which was a sign that I was in an entirely different country) but I was too hungry to care. I sat up and eagerly reached out for the fork and spoon. The old man was still talking, "I'm not sure whether you know me or not, but my name is Albus Dumbledore."

I only glanced at him once before returning to stuffing my face with food.

"I assume I'm easing your mind by telling you that you're no longer a prisoner of Nurmengard. As I was the one who defeated the old man who raised you," here, he paused momentarily as if to give me time to process what he was saying before continuing, "I have a little say in regards to his punishment for all his crimes. I decided that death was too... merciful," he sounded like he was being strangled when he got to the last word, but only briefly, "and so I decided life-imprisonment for him. I've talked with the Norwegian Minister and... he agreed to let you off."

I swallowed before speaking. "So that's it?" I asked, unable to help the skepticism from leaking into my words. "All you actually have to do was ask?"

"The people would not be pleased to know that the Ministry has done something as inhumane as imprisoning a child and the Minister is quite interested in not losing his reputation, young one."

I stared at the empty plate, seeing my vague reflection. I must be a mess. "Where do I go now?" I asked, sounding odd even to myself.

There was a pause. "I'm afraid your parents are no longer in this world," said Dumbledore carefully.

I didn't feel sad, they weren't my parents. I just wish... wish that my real parents were okay. That they weren't too worried because I'd work things out and get home, get back to my old body. I closed my eyes to stem the oncoming headache; this was so confusing. Why was this happening to me?

Did I die? Am I in coma? The latter was very likely.

"Anyone else?"

"Just... your closest relation is Gellert—your great-grandfather—and regardless of any circumstances, he is not to be freed. There is one more, Bathilda Bagshot, your great-great-grandaunt."

"Do I go now?" I inquired flatly, unable to do anything but be guided along. I don't know anything yet so why don't I go with the flow?

"No, not now," said Dumbledore. "I have to sort things out with her and you need to recover. You are too thin, Germaine." There was sorrow in his eyes when he spoke. "I'm sorry," he added in barely a whisper before sweeping away.

I fell back on the soft bed, such a contrast from the forest ground and the cell's hard tile, and fell asleep instantly.

.

The next few days were torture. I had nothing to do and Germaine's body, I found, was a bundle of energy. Her fingers danced across the surface, drumming alternately and even though I'd find it annoying in my old body, this was simply soothing and it releases pent-up energy.

I was served delicious dishes after delicious dishes but not too much, in case everything comes out again. I was also bathed and given clean clothes. I spent nearly an hour cleaning Germaine's mess of a hair. Even a rat's nest would look much better than it was!

In the end, it was so messy, the Healer told me she'd cut it—now, the wispy dark blonde strands barely brushed my shoulders. I had a skeletal frame, white skin stretched painfully to its limits (using the eloquent words the Healer in charge of me had said) across my body. I was small for a nine-year-old, looking like I was six or seven.

My eyes were mismatched colors—I heard the Healer mutter, "inbreeding," and only later I would learn that my parents were first cousins, my grandparents were uncle and niece and so on—one blue and the other lime-green and my hair was probably the same color from when Gramps was young.

After a week or so, Dumbledore came back.

"This," he said, showing me a quill, "is a Portkey straight to Godric's Hollow, across countries so you might suffer from side-affects, nothing serious, however. Ready?"

"Yes," I said.

Then everything went black.

.

I have had _enough_ of passing out—those moments where I was vulnerable and would be unable to be roused. Portkey travel was rubbish; once I woke, I was vomiting into a bucket prepared by an ancient lady.

Her name I learned later, was Bathilda Bagshot and she grinned widely at me, revealing pink gums that lacked real teeth, which crept me out. I had never seen anyone as old. She was even older than Gellert Grindewald and that guy was nearing about one-hundred-and-nine years old.

After approximately four hours when Dumbledore had already left, she forgot that I existed, which gave me the time and space all to myself.

This room wasn't air-conditioned so I wasn't sure how I was going to survive. I need to look up Cooling Charms and show it to Bathilda. I mean, it was in the dead of summer and she certainly wouldn't remember how to cast a charm. I estimate her to be about thirty years older than Gramps.

I was given a low-ceilinged bedroom. The bedroom contained at one curtained window, underneath to the left which was a red hammock I was supposed to sleep on. There was the cupboard and that's about it, I don't think anything else can be fitted in here. Bathilda promised to buy me a bed, but I doubted she remember it.

Anyhow, the hammock was still better than sleeping on the floor—even though Germaine's body was used to it.

"Germaine!" I yawned, rolling out of the hammock from where I had been napping. I shuffled to the door and peered out. It was Bathilda who'd called me, which surprised me since it was only one hour ago she asked me who I was and why I was asking, "What's for lunch, Gran?"

"Yes, Aunt?"

"Have you had lunch yet?" Bathilda asked kindly.

I stared blankly at her. "I just ate," I said flatly.

Bathilda frowned like she didn't believe me. "Then what are you doing still standing there? Get going to school, young lady!"

_She's nuts_, I thought silently, leaving the house just to appease her. I'd go in after awhile and treat it as if I'd come back. This place was a small one so I don't think I would get too horribly lost.

Hair swaying in the breeze, I set off to explore.

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><p><strong>[review!]<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**CLOSER**  
>by: Riseha<p>

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing._

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Chapter 3:  
><strong>_Accidental Meetings_

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><p>The Muggles—odd to address them as such but since I was in Germaine's body, it came naturally—didn't even spared the monument a second glance so I assume only magical beings could look at it.<p>

Well, this tells a lot about what timeline I'm in now.

The First Wizarding War was already over, Harry Potter had triumphed over Lord Voldemort. I scavenged for a newspaper, eventually finding one in the library, and saw the date. April, 24th, 1990.

"Fuck," I said happily.

I wondered if I would be going to Hogwarts.

.

There was a lot to get used to. Like dumbing myself down and pretending to never have seen stuff before. It wasn't hard to fool Bathilda but Dumbledore was another matter entirely. He made it a point to check up on me every week and would see my progress. It was fortunate Bathilda often forgot I was there so she wouldn't be able to rebuke my claim that she taught me a lot of things.

I could read and write.

Apparently, Germaine could too.

My memory would often flash to prickling my thumb to draw blood and writing on the cold, hard ground of the prison cell. I guess even writing on the floor with blood was something better to do than to sit and wait for the years to fly by. For someone who had been stuck for six years in prison, Germaine was a robust youth.

As I was no longer in a life-and-death situation, I was more aware of my body than my surroundings. So it was awkward: this body was too small for me. When I was nine, my body had been way taller than this. This world was shit; who keeps a toddler in a cell? Locked up for something she didn't do and because she conveniently existed?

I wondered why the real Germaine didn't make an appearance. In the seventh book when Voldemort went to kill Gellert, she wasn't there. Or she was already killed. Or she died somewhere along the years.

I poked at my ribs, I feel like it'd break if I punch myself. Yeah. If she died in the cell years earlier, it wouldn't be hard to believe. I shuddered as I recalled the maggots found in Germaine's hair before the Healer sheared everything off with a wave of her wand. That wasn't the worst of it; I wondered if Germaine's name came from the number of germs in the cell.

_Very funny, Gramps._

I glanced around, deciding to find the Potters' cottage. It was a historical site, and I would like to visit Ignotius Peverell's grave as well. Germaine had heard so much about it from Gellert that it would simply be blasphemy if she didn't try to find what he had been searching his whole life. Ignotus' grave was a clue, apparently.

My mind lingered on a particular memory, of Gramps telling me how my father had been descended of the first Peverell brother ("At least, we think so. Your maternal grandmother claimed to be a descendant; we cannot confirm that though. Antioch existed centuries ago.").

The place was small enough and after walking what seemed to be everywhere, I arrived at the rundown cottage. The gates were locked and I was sure, enchanted with magic to stop pilferers.

On a whim, I picked a stone and carved, "For the Greater Good," on a free spot because James and Lily Potter died to ensure their son's safety, a boy who would be the shining beacon of hope and even though it seems bleak, it was for a bright future.

I set the stone down and kept walking.

.

Bathilda didn't teach me maths or science or geography, that was taught to me by tutors Dumbledore hired—because Bathilda was unlikely to remember anything. I breezed through them easily but History, taught to me personally by Bathilda, was even more fascinating.

Her old, raspy voice was in reminiscence of Gellert's, but she knew how to tell stories.

Germaine's memories of what Gellert often taught her consisted of martial magic (to prevent their bones from being rusty), wandlore, Dark Arts, Necromancy and branches of magic not taught at Hogwarts or Durmstrang for the matter (e.g: Legilimency and Occlumency). Japan, I recalled Gellert saying, was famed for incorporating magic into their martial arts. Gellert also alluded to the fact he was trained in martial arts, karate, judo or whatever it was.

I suppose he did a lot during the fifty years he had before he was defeated and sent to prison.

Germaine's body was... refreshing. Okay, despite the malnourished state (which was slowly improving with tons of care from Bathilda and Dumbledore), Germaine's body was relatively functional. I meant that her mind was refreshing. She memorized things easily and not to mention her reflexes and stamina (which was good and useful when I was being chased by a mad dog I aggravated by treading on its tail).

Compared to my last life as a stressed-out student rushing to finish assignments, this was relaxing.

Mundane everyday life of getting to choose lessons which were easier to learn this time around because I had already learned most of it was rather nice.

The high marks I scored on tests was just a bonus.

.

I was a curious person and the lack of activity made me bored. So I sought out entertainment.

If I were purely _me_, without an ounce of Germaine Grindewald, I never would've set foot in a graveyard at the dead of the night. What soothed me was that ghosts were just that, harmless specters in this world unlike the indiscernible in my old world.

I gripped Bathilda's wand (taken without her knowledge) and a shovel. "Lumos," I muttered, lighting the area; I walked around, looking at the date of deaths, looking for the most recent ones for fresh bones.

Necromancy had always fascinated Germaine.

This woman must've been dead for a year or so... I got to work. There should be fear or worry, but my senses seem numbed in comparison to the curiosity buzzing. I didn't know how long had passed before the shovel hit hard wood—the coffin. It would've been easier to use magic of course but I didn't know the proper spell.

I was sweating buckets, hands raw and stinging, by the time I could use the wand to unlock the coffin. It was horridly fascinating. "P—_per_—vigilia."

Nothing happened.

Rather disappointed, I lowered the wand and scrutinized the skeleton, waiting to see signs of life.

Obviously, I was missing something. Gellert described it in detail but it's nothing when it comes to hands-on practice. Perhaps my magic was not strong enough or I forgot something—I better head back and review Germaine's memories. I licked my dry lips, heart thudding loudly. There was no way I was going to cover this up. I'll just leave it, it's not like anyone can tell. With that thought in mind, I hurried home.

.

"Oh Germaine!" I cracked an eye open when I heard Bathilda's sing-song voice calling my—still getting used to that—name. I pushed myself on my elbows, swaying as the hammock (true to my prediction, she had completely forgotten to buy a bed for me and now, I have grown attached to it) rocked with the slightest of movements.

Bathilda was outside my door.

"Yeah?" I called back, wondering what was wrong as I rubbed my eyes from the crust of sleep, since Bathilda rarely ever remembered I existed so early in the mornings. Memories of last night's excursion came to mind and I threw a guilty look at Bathilda's wand. Nothing happened, did it? I doubt it, Bathilda wouldn't sound so cheerful if it were so.

Besides, I needed sleep, having returned at only three in the morn.

"Get dressed and come down for breakfast, dear!" she chirped. "An old friend of mine's coming to chat. I'd like to introduce the both of you."

This had me wide-awake and alert. I had never actually met anyone other than the tutors, Bathilda and Dumbledore. I threw off the blanket and jumped off the hammock. "Give me ten minutes!"

_Why can't they bring kids? They know I'm a kid, right?_

—were the thoughts that crossed my mind the moment I saw the old man with white hair which made him resemble an aged dandelion clock. I was a fool for hoping. Truthfully, I was getting lonely. Bathilda didn't make good conversations, she babbled on and on, from her childhood to the scandal between this famous witch singer and a Muggle man. She gave me no opportunities to make an opinion of my own and all I could do was nod and go "hm" whenever it seemed appropriate (wasn't listening).

"Ah, Germaine, dearie—this is Elphias Doge, an old friend."

I offered the old man a polite smile, trying to recall his appearance in the books.

His dark eyes flickered hesitantly, the momentary look of horror that made him slack-jawed was quickly replaced by a tremulous smile when he saw me smiling.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, unable to help myself. I'm sure he must've known of Gramps.

"No, no, you just— looked a lot like someone I knew, he wasn't a good person so... no, I shouldn't have said anything." His grin grew steadier. "It's nice to meet you, what's your relation to old Bathilda?"

"My niece," said Bathilda happily and I nodded in agreement.

Elphias' eyes told me he didn't quite believe it.

He stayed only for a short while, I could tell he wasn't quite taken with me despite my politeness and amiable attitude. He turned sheet-white when I stood beside the dresser, bearing photographs of Gellert, a young Dumbledore and Bathilda herself with other members of the Bagshot family.

He mumbled some lame reason, ignoring Bathilda's confused cries, and left, but not without throwing one last horrified look my face.

I took the photograph containing Gellert and Albus to the closest mirror I could find and compared them. Excluding the mismatched eyes of blue and green, we look rather alike. Same wispy blonde curls, large eyes, full and chapped lips, sharp nose, thin oblique brows and high cheekbones.

I grinned.

Gellert and my reflection grinned identical, merry wild grins back.

.

I doubted Albus' feelings for Gellert was truly gone. I caught him staring at me more than once, which meant that the past still had quite the grasp on him. I wondered why he didn't just visit Gramps. I had tried to push him there by giving him a letter meant for Gramps but he just procured me a snowy owl with black spots, said happy belated birthday (I had only been at Bathilda's place for two months and my tenth birthday was spent in Nurmengard) and told me to use that.

Gramps wrote often but it wasn't everyday I got his letter. We were countries apart so our exchange was slow and I didn't want to overwork the owl. I was careful to exclude my excursion to the graveyard, I'm sure Gramps' letters were opened before being given to him.

I made sure to add in things like, "The sky's beautiful!" and "I tasted rain for the first time, it's fun!" and "Bathilda showed me the sea!" or "I didn't know there's so many colors in the world!" etc. to not arouse suspicions. I would have to be excited to be seeing the world for the first time, right?

I also got a hate-mail. I didn't need to ask to know it was Abeforth Dumbledore.

He enclosed a nifty piece of parchment that exploded the moment I touched it.

My ears were ringing with Bathilda's scream of horror and the explosion. My palms singed with pain, I bit back the cry of pain. "Ba—Bathilda!" I cried. The old woman tottered to me, her eyes wide with horror. "H-hospital," I whimpered, seeing black spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Distantly, before I passed out (again), I heard screams and people pounding on Bathilda's door, yelling, "Are you alright?" and "What happened?" over and over again.

I drifted in and out of consciousness for the next few days (or hours), drugged and tired. When I woke up completely, it was to Bathilda fussing over me. I had been admitted to the "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn Ward, treated for burns. It had been bad, apparently, Muggle neighbors decided to poke their noses in and rushed me to a Muggle hospital instead.

And Bathilda conveniently forgot that she was a witch—but that's probably because I stole her wand and had yet to return to her so she couldn't put the fire out—so part of her living room burned down. She was now living with Enid Smeek who lived in the outskirts of Godric's Hollow until the construction was finished.

Dumbledore narrated this to me, summing up the events that had happened during my stay here.

My hands were wrapped up in thick bandages and stung every time I moved them.

I regretted asking for something interesting to happen. If this wasn't interesting, I didn't know what. "At least I can club people easier now," I grumbled.

Dumbledore's eyes regained the old twinkle in them for a brief moment before it disappeared when he saw how I wince.

"Who did this?" I wondered.

"Did your caretaker ever mention—?" He couldn't even bring himself to say Gellert's name.

I smiled grimly. "'S okay," I said, silently promising myself to bash Abeforth's head in the minute I see his fucking face. Fortunately for my sanity, I was only required to stay one or two more days before I can leave.

I didn't move from my ward, it's so embarrassing, I really look like I'm carrying bee-hives. I was fantasizing a hundred-and-twelve ways to murder Abeforth gruesomely when I heard the emergency alarm sounding. It had happened only twice since I was lucid and I was used to it by now.

The first time I heard it, I was startled by the sound—like elephants stampeding a city—but it was only Healers rushing to stop a patient from dying.

My neighbor, a nosy witch who loved gossiping that was here because her bitten wound was infected, squealed in delight, hobbling on one foot, the other dragging her swollen leg which was also bandaged.

"Ooh, you wouldn't believe who's just been rushed in!" She glanced excitedly around at us, as if expecting us to ask.

Deciding to humor her, I asked, "Who?"

"Abraxas Malfoy! Caught sight of green dots, he must be a victim of dragon pox, I say! I better phone Rita, she would _love_ this scoop—"

"Oh, Bertha," a wizard on our opposite sighed, "you wouldn't want to be caught mentioning anything about the Malfoys, whether true or false. They wouldn't like it."

Bertha pouted but did not listen nevertheless. She was rummaging around in her drawer for a piece of parchment. "Bertha... Bertha Jorkins?" I said her name too loudly because she turned her curious gaze to me.

"Yes, girlie?" She eyed me, squinting. "Odd accent you have there and if I wasn't mistaken, _the_ Albus Dumbledore visited you last night, did he not?" She let out an excited squeal that was more suited for girls twice her junior. I smiled uneasily when she leaned forward. "I nearly forgot about that piece of information! It was a good thing I decided to stay up late last night." She bounced on her bed like an excited child. "So, so, what's your connection with the famous Albus Dumbledore?"

"I was just... a victim of his brother's prank." I raised my arms to show her and she gasped in horror.

"Why did he do that?"

"I've never met him, wrong recipient but I couldn't tell since there was nothing written." I mustered a grimace, forcing down the urge to smile maliciously. "An attack without provocation," I sighed dramatically. "Who knows if my arms will be the same again?"

Bertha was practically vibrating with excitement; she was like a child trapped in a thirty-four years old's body. Even I didn't have as much energy as she did when I was at that age. She continued to shoot questions at me, most of which I avoided and dodged since she kept asking about the Dumbledore and who I was.

Dumbledore never exactly said not to introduce my full name but he didn't say it was okay either so I was wary. I resolved to ask him about that the next time.

.

I didn't know why Dumbledore wanted to get me a souvenir in this place. From this place. I have bad memories here already, no thanks to Abeforth. I guess Dumbledore wanted to make it up to me so he told me to take whatever I wanted.

I was tempted to say I wanted the whole shop to irk him but desisted and decided to choose something relatively normal and wouldn't arouse his suspicion that there was something wrong with me.

I used to love these stuffed toys when I was seven, does this count? I took the white teddy bear, regardless of the fact that it was about as large as my torso. To most, this would seem tiny but it was big in comparison to me. I didn't say no to the box of Chocolate Frogs either.

I was tearing open the first packet when I heard Dumbledore's abruptly somber voice, "Ah, Mrs Malfoy."

I glanced up, one hand covering the opening to stop the frog from jumping out. Mrs Malfoy wasn't alone, there was a small, sad-looking boy beside her with a lighter shade of blonde hair and silver eyes.

"And your son would be...?"

"Draco," answered Mrs Malfoy promptly, smiling a strained smile. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Draco, this is Albus Dumbledore, your soon-to-be Headmaster."

He sneered, somehow managing to be polite when he did so. Then his red-rimmed eyes (obviously, he'd been crying and I suspect that his grandfather had recently passed away) latched onto me with a glare. "Who're you?" he asked, loudly and rudely.

"Germaine," I said. Dumbledore tapped my shoulder, gazing down at me expectantly. What he wanted, I wasn't sure but he _had_ mentioned before that I should make friends and enjoy life. I took a few steps forward. "You look sad, want a Chocolate Frog?" I handed him the struggling chocolate.

"Mom, I don't understand what she's saying," he declared loudly.

I stared, surprised, at him.

"She's offering you the chocolate," said Dumbledore kindly, "She isn't too skilled in the English language, you see, she's using Norwegian to replace English phrases she doesn't know."

I was barely just able to keep my jaw from falling, instead, I looked at Draco, mind working for a logical explanation. He looked like he wanted to slap my hand away but beneath Dumbledore's penetrating gaze, he accepted, careful not to touch my hands.

I snorted internally; if he knew who I was, he would be put in his place so quickly...

"Well, I'm afraid we have to go now." Dumbledore placed a hand on my shoulder and gently steered me away. "You have my condolences, send my regards to Lucius. Come, Germaine."

"I don't understand," I said the moment we were out of sight. Dumbledore glanced down, arching a brow in askance. "I mean, the witch next to me understood what I was saying."

"Germaine, not everyone can understand Norwegian, she just happened to be one of the few in this country. In this world, there are more than one languages." I felt momentary indignant before I recalled that I was supposed to be quite limited.

"What language are we speaking now then?" I wondered, paying extra attention to what I speak. I didn't notice anything strange, it came naturally to me.

"Purely Norwegian."

"So, so Aunt Bathilda can speak Norwegian too? And the tutors you hired know it too?"

"Yes. It was for your convenience."

"Oh." I wondered how I failed to realize such. I shook my head wryly. I still have a lot to learn it seems.

I slipped my hand into Dumbledore's as we descended the stairs—I still have the tendency to trip.

Dumbledore held out an old watch. "Hold on tight," he advised, "You remember what a Portkey does?"

I grimaced, holding onto the strap tightly. "I'm ready."

.

* * *

><p><strong>[AN]:** Germaine and Anne's personality will slowly merge so the SI's moral compass will be... quite off. She won't hesitate to push someone in harm's way if it meant her safety and for experiment. As for her allegiance, Germaine isn't about to try anything funny under Dumbledore's nose. But she is inclined towards the Dark Arts.

**Question:** Which House do you think she'll be in?

**Preview:** Enter Remus Lupin!

**~review~**

**.**


	4. Chapter 4

**CLOSER**  
>by: Riseha<p>

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

* * *

><p><strong>.<strong>

**Chapter 4:  
><strong>_Necromancy Experimenting_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>"Necromancy sounds interesting, to say the least, Gramps. But we can't really bring back the dead, can we?" Bitterly, "Mom won't come back."<em>

_"...No, it can't. Necromancy doesn't work that way. It only brings back an after-image, in essence, it allows us to control the leftovers, an inanimate thing. Even the Resurrection Stone can't do it."_

_"Tell me, again, Gramps, how do we raise skeletons and corpses?"_

_"You don't summon them like most think, you have to negotiate your way. There is a simple charm 'Pervigilia' to raise skeletons, weaker than Inferi but easier to control, but before that, you must make an offer. What is so appealing to serve you? The dead bodies, skeletons, will have imprints of their former selves from when they are alive. The majority of them will have the same wish: to live once more. You can offer them life, but that is just a lie—of course you can't do that but what they don't know won't harm them. There are, however, dangers—"_

_"I remember. Because the corpses to make the undead have imprints of their former selves, if I encounter the corpse of a particularly willful person or one who is content with death, there's a chance it'd fight back and kill me. Er, will it end the spell?"_

_"No, it won't. You must have willpower, you must be firm, never waver when you make the offer or the dead won't place their faith in you. The only way to end the summoning is to offer it your blood. When it drops onto them, they will sense the deceit in your blood and will return to the afterlife."_

_"Will damage be done to their souls?"_

_"Well, Germaine, you don't expect me to know, do you?" Gramps' voice was positively sagging with sarcasm. I made a face at him. "I've never been an Inferius before. But I assume so, yes, it does do damage. The only way to not harm it when you wish to free it is to grant its dying wish—which would be impossible to find out since Inferi aren't coherent and most forgot how to speak."_

_"Any language works right?"_

_"Any. Speaking of languages, can we switch to Mermish? Those schist are eavesdropping."_

_"..."_

_"Germaine, is something wrong?"_

_"No... nothing, just thinking."_

_"You cannot conquer death when you're alive, no one can, you will learn that someday."_

_"But—"_

_"_Germaine_."_

_"Yes, sorry... I was just being silly."_

.

I inspected the piece of parchment where I had scribbled down deals, offers for the dead. I pressed my tongue to the side of my inner cheek, thinking. I reclined in my seat, straining my ears to hear Bathilda's snores. I tore the piece of parchment, folding it and stuffing it in my pocket.

I crept silently out of my room and to the opposite room, twisting the doorknob and glancing in. I saw the lump on the bed and crept in, leaving the door open, I tiptoed to the dresser where Bathilda's wand was and took it. I left the room, shutting it just as Bathilda let out a particularly loud snore and turned around.

Wincing at how fast my heart was thudding, I hastened down the stairs and out of the cottage (Bathilda forgot to lock the door, again but that's good for me).

The grave I'd dug had been covered, I'd heard how the person who did this act, scandalous and disgusting, was a lunatic. It had been a few weeks since that happened, hopefully, the patrols would've lessened.

I stood before the grave I'd once dug and pointed my wand at the spot where she would be buried. I racked my brain for the phrase Gramps had recited about a dozen times before, sometimes sung as a nursery rhyme. It was in Ancient Greek I think, I couldn't be sure. My memory clicked into place and the words flowed from my lips in rapid succession, with fluency I was unaware I possessed: "[...] _Perviligia_!"

Nothing happened at first but after a few moments rolled by and down my cheek in cold-sweat, I heard it: the sounds of digging. I glanced around but no one was around. It was too late and the night was cold, the moon was absent. I have to admit, I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

Even Germaine's courage which I drew on was starting to fail. I took a few steps back when something pressed against my boots.

Right, better run. I shouldn't have come in the middle of the night. This was very bad.

I pivoted on my heel, and tripped, landing face-first on the dirt. I blanched, pushing myself up very quickly and turned behind to see who had grabbed me.

A skeletal hand, bony and stripped of flesh, clung to my ankle.

I let out a bloodcurdling scream. At least I thought I did, no sound escaped my lips. I did the only thing I could think of, I forcefully jackknifed upward, somersaulted, and landed on the balls of my feet. My heart was in my throat, I didn't dare open my mouth in case it actually hopped out.

This was a bad idea, I'm a bloody idiot, I shouldn't have tried anything, shouldn't have been tempted by curiosity. I'm starting to see why people liked to say, "Curiosity killed the cat." Wish I had listened before.

The bony leftovers of an appendage gripped my ankle tighter and pulled. A shudder ripped through my whole body when I realized it was using me to pull itself out. I was torn between yelling _Cool!_ and _Schist!_

I fumbled for a handhold, accidentally cutting myself. "Ah!" But then I realized this was a good thing. Gramps said the blood of the caster would kill it. I don't care if it damaged its soul or not, my life's way more important than its shitty soul. I lurched forward, bleeding palms latching onto the bony fingers that abruptly stilled. "Begone!" I yelled, daring to speak as loudly as I could. "I never meant to give you life—just—EEK!"

It was on fire. Black and grey fire swallowed the skeletal hand, wrist and the beginning of its forearm. Then it disintegrated into ashes, it scream echoing in my ears, ringing loudly and dimly, I heard shouts and doors banging open in the distance.

Thoroughly shaken, I staggered to my feet and limped back to the house, careful to not be seen—in all the fear and panic, I had not noticed the pain when the skeletal grip was so hard as I struggled it accidentally (or deliberately) twisted it.

I grimaced. I've got a shit-load of lying to do.

.

In the end, I wasn't in that much trouble. Once I'd bathed and scrubbed the dirt, I was as good as new, except for the obvious limp. Bathilda, despite her occasional bouts of senility, knew a lot of healing charms and had my leg righted in about three minutes. I was deeply impressed.

Until she asked me who I was the next second I complimented her.

She was smiling though so I couldn't be sure if she was joking. I stared at her, nonplussed and her smile dimmed, turning wistful. "You really remind me of them, y'know?"

"Who?"

Bathilda grinned at me. "My younger sister who would be your great-great-grandmother. I've never met her son but they say Gellert was a lot like him in terms of appearance. You look like Gwendolyn and Gellert, too. Gwen's eyes are like your eyes, green and yellow..." she trailed off.

"I see," I said, lacing my fingers on my lap, legs crossed. "Do you have pictures of her?"

"I'll show you later," promised Bathilda, which meant that it would not be happening. I'd just have to search for it myself. "Oh, Germaine?"

"Hm?"

"Your Hogwarts letter arrived," announced Bathilda happily. "Happy birthday, dear." My eyes flickered to the calendar hanging on the fridge. December 31st. I arched a brow—this was the worst coincidence possible. "Germaine? Dear?"

I coughed. "Er, yeah, yeah, that's great." I took the letter from Bathilda's horribly wrinkled and liver-spotted hands. "Why did I get my letter now when I'll only be attending... Wait, I was born in 1980, after 31 July. Why would I be going to Hogwarts after this summer is over?"

Bathilda smiled. "Albus thought you had too much time on your hands and he says that he hopes this will take your mind off experimenting on things you shouldn't. What did you do, dear?"

My grip on the letter tightened. "Nothing," I managed. "Nothing at all. May I be excused? Yeah, thanks." Without waiting for an answer, I dashed back up the stairs. I have a letter to write to Gramps to tell him about my success.

I contemplated writing to Dumbledore to explain why I did it but eventually, decided against it. Saying sorry was admitting that I _did_ do something. Which I did. Which would not put me in his good books.

I glanced around my room, eyes narrowing on my owl—a gift from Dumbledore. It tilted its head to the side and eyed me. I bet she (I checked) reported directly to Dumbledore. It hooted softly from where it was perched, on the cupboard, I didn't even bother caging it. I sighed, recognizing that call. I stood and strode over to her, withdrawing biscuits from the night table and offering it to her.

"Stay awake a little longer, Spy," I told her, when her eyelids drooped (or maybe she was blinking particularly slow). "I've got work for you. Send this to Gramps, okay?"

.

Sometimes, it felt grossly unfair I was free and Gramps was not. Was life imprisonment a proper punishment? I think not. Gramps had already repented: he deserves a second chance!

Germaine was so used to have Gellert there that, occasionally, when I found something interesting, I would instinctively twist my body, grin on my lips, about to recount a fascinating discovery until I realize he wasn't there. I had spent about a few minutes with him altogether so I know_ I_ don't miss him.

It was Germaine who missed him and tears would leaked at night.

Fortunately, no one questioned me if they noticed the rimmed-red eyes.

Since Dumbledore had not particularly expressed his disagreement with my practice of Necromancy, I had continued visiting the graves but not so often because the villagers had taken to patrolling the area to keep the graves from being desecrated.

Which was troublesome.

I had only managed to raise another skeleton and I was as quick to dispel it too, probably damaging its soul. I'm not sure how it would make it to the afterlife. I have to admit, I was guilty but nothing kept me from being fascinated. Was it tiring?

Yes. Thing was, I could actually feel something being sapped from my body: magic energy leaving my core. I tried several other charms wandlessly and sometimes, with Bathilda's wand and found that magic seemed to be an extension from my body. I could move objects by gesturing and summon them towards me. I wasn't sure if everyone else was like this.

Transfiguring them was harder and I needed a wand.

Anyhow, I could summon skeletons, time to move on to Inferi, me thinks.

It was there, plan brewing at the back of my mind but I do not know how to get them, the ingredients I meant. They were artificially created from the recently deceased. And no one died recently. I reviewed what Gramps had taught me (or Germaine if you care about the tiny details and technicalities), brows furrowed as I did so.

Inferi can be deadly when provoked but they could be freed the same way as Charmed Skeletons. But they were tougher. I could banish the Skeletons with various other spells not involving blood but not Inferi who're stronger. Inferi need to taste the blood of the caster, which meant sticking my bloody hand into their mouths which would risk being chewed off.

Another way is to fulfill their dying wish—the calmer and less-destructive and less-risks choice.

_I think I need a better plan._

For the first time, I decided to interact with the villagers. I waved and smiled at them from across the streets, scanning the place for any people close to death. It took me two weeks to find a suitable candidate: this old man was close to death; I could _feel_ it.

I learned that his name was Othello. I didn't know he was going to pop his clogs at first. He was the old man that ran the only library in town: I helped him at times, organizing his bookshelves and I was his most often customer. So anyway, after three weeks of talking to him, I learned that he was going to die but he just couldn't bring himself to rest in peace until he saw his granddaughter, said that she lived in London with her parents.

"Wish I could see her," he murmured, breathing shakily.

I cast him a long, scrutinizing glance. "Yeah," I said. "I wish I could see Gramps too." That was Germaine speaking. I liked this old man and I was sorry to hear he was going to die. I just had a bleeding heart but Germaine, she could really empathize, she was missing Gellert a lot. But she wasn't sorry to see Othello go if it meant letting her experiment however she wanted, I was horrified to realize I barely felt anything.

Just plain nonchalance, like, _he's going to die, not my problem._

I comforted myself rather well. This body was Germaine's, the heart that was feeling was Germaine's. If I was in my body, with my own heart, I would be tearing up and sobbing.

(Liar)

I turned away to hide how my face crumpled at the thought of Gramps. I didn't know Germaine was such a crybaby but I guess she had spent six years with Gramps, every sleeping and waking hour, how could she not miss his constant presence and his vast knowledge he was dying to share with her?

(Germaine didn't seem to care about others as long she and the people she cared about were safe)

"Is something wrong?"

"...No."

Old Man Othello died six days later after the conversation. He never got to see his granddaughter—she wasn't suppose to visit until summer holidays and I was the one who found his body.

Naturally, I screamed for help. I pretend to have been freaked out pretty well I think. The first guy I went to for help thought I was kidding because I knocked on his door and said, "Othello's dead," with perfect calmness.

His family flew in a few days later to organize his funeral. There was a little girl, about six or seven, and I was barely taller than her. _I need milk_, I thought sourly.

"I knew him a little," said Dumbledore from beside me, as we spied on the family from where we stood on the cobbled path, not really being subtle. Dumbledore wouldn't have known subtle if it bit him in the ass: his robes were obnoxiously bright and people were gaping. "I used to go to his library to read Muggle literature, quite fascinating if I say so. Come, let's pay our respects, Germaine." I hesitated before following him.

The girl had Othello's brown eyes, warm and deep, but now, they were sad, her eyes rimmed red. She reminded me of how I looked when I woke up and saw myself in the bathroom mirror. I sidled up to her while the grown-ups talked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey," I said as kindly as possible.

She raised her tear-stained face to look at me. "Y-yeah?" she hiccuped.

"I'm Germaine, what's your name?"

"Coral," she replied meekly, sniffling. I grabbed the tissue box on the piano and handed it to her. My eyes roamed the small space; the living room was crowded with people giving the Smiths family their condolences. Everything was covered in a layer of dust and I suspect it's because Othello no longer had the energy to get up and clean (and didn't want to waste money by hiring a maid when this house was going to be emptied sooner or later). Only the piano remained untouched by filth; the sofa, tea-table and television looked untouched. I scuffed my foot on the carpet, wrinkling my nose when I saw dust rising in puffs.

Not raising my eyes, keeping my head down and letting my wispy blonde hair cover my lips moving from the side, I asked, "Do you want to talk to your grandfather one last time?"

Coral's brown eyes were wide. "You can help?" She whispered, voice trembling with hope, tethering on the edge of shattering.

"How long are you staying here?" I asked instead.

"We're leaving next Sunday."

Today's Thursday and if Othello was being buried today, we can make it. "Meet me outside your house, at eleven o'clock. This Saturday." I still need time to prepare, steel my nerves and such.

She looked confused, unsure but the overwhelming need to see her grandfather prompted her to nod. Dumbledore, Bathilda and I attended the funeral service; I winked encouragingly at Coral who smiled weakly at me before casting her gaze downward again.

Her shoulders weren't shaking; I wondered if she was crying.

I thought Saturday couldn't come any sooner. Dumbledore had left earlier this morning, which left me scot-free to do whatever I planned to do. It was like going on a date (I giggled to myself, baffling Bathilda who started to think there was a fly buzzing around), I was flustered and kept adjusting the collar of my button-up shirt.

I mean, this would be my first attempt at raising Inferi, if it fails, Coral and I might be eaten or strangled or turned into one. Besides, the body was relatively fresh so the Inferius would bound to have some physical resemblance to Othello.

I was five minutes earlier than planned but I didn't have to wait at all. Coral had been pressing her face against the window and had saw me coming. She was breathless with anticipation when she came out to meet me, her steps soundless. "Where is Grandpa?" she asked quietly.

"This way," I said, taking the lead. The dark seemed to intimidate her because she huddled closer to me, arms wrapped around herself to bundle against the cold. She had not brought her sweater and neither had I. I took her hand and guided her. Having taken multiple trips down this path, I was very familiar and didn't need light to lead the way.

Bathilda's wand was tightly grasped in hand.

"Where are we going?" Coral asked.

"To the grave. That's where he is," I answered. We stumbled around in the dark until Coral finally found the newest tombstone. The night was creepy, eerily silent, the whole place holding its breath in anticipation to what I would be doing. I had spent the last few weeks writing this. Not sure if it would work though. "Okay, stand back, Coral, this might be dangerous."

I cleared my throat as Coral shuffled back. Despite the nervousness settling in at what I would be doing, I took a moment to marvel her obedience. If it were me with a complete stranger, I would've ran at the first opportunity. "Here goes," I mumbled, raising Bathilda's wand, repeating the chant for the skeletons: "[...]—_Surgere Inferus_!"

The Inferius wasn't as slow to respond as the Charmed Skeleton. A white hand was already clawing the dirt, having already busted through the wooden confines. Coral let out a tiny squeak, I backpedaled so quickly I nearly pushed her down. She clung to the ends of my shirt. Actually, she was holding me up.

Creating the Inferius from a corpse had been taxing; black spots danced tauntingly in my vision. I was drained. I'd eaten not too long ago but I felt as if I hadn't eaten in a week. Note to self: don't try without adult supervision.

I gritted my teeth, trying to steady myself against the tree. If the Inferius put up a fight or went crazy, Coral and I would be first on its hit-list. And there would be very little I could do to defend us.

"What's going on?" she asked then she squinted. "Is that... Grandpa?"

I gently nudged Coral forward but she needed no further encouragement, she went on ahead willingly, gaping at the Inferius pulling its torso out of the ground. The right leg was pulled out first then the left leg. I was right, this Inferius did have Othello's features—and my heart thudded uncomfortably at this thought—but did he have his love for his granddaughter?

The Inferius' brown eyes were unblinking; its bony hands reached out, trembling slightly.

It rasped, "Love you... love you," so softly, so distinctly I almost missed it.

Coral sniffled; she didn't seem as disgusted as I was feeling when she reached out to embrace the corpse. Goosebumps were rising. Yeuck. I wanna go home now.

Okay, I mess with the dead, I raise them up. But touching and hugging them? No. Just now. The Inferius let out a shuddering breath, eyeballs rolling back. I was as careful and as silent as possible, creeping up next to the Inferius. I grasped its neck and jerked it roughly to the side, snapping it with an audible crack.

It fell lifelessly to the ground and made no move to raise nor did it seem furious, which meant that its last wish had been granted. Silvery smoke escaped its lips, too quickly, too brief, and it was gone before Coral caught sight of it. I sagged, relieved, onto the ground, ignoring the sharp tree barks that dug into my body.

"Grandpa... he said, he said—" she hiccuped, dissolving into tears.

"Let's go," I said wearily, mind whirling already for a way to create dormant Inferius that followed orders and a way to ensure I could raise the dead without draining myself so much. "And Coral? Don't tell anyone."

There was an uproar the next day about how Othello's body was discovered out of its grave but as no one came busting down our doors, I was content to close my eyes and roll over in my hammock, going back to sleep.

I had been having a pretty nice dream. Shame I couldn't remember it.

.

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><p><strong>[AN]:** Germaine would be a little creepy... and experimenting will be something she does often... Necromancy is something she messes around but won't appear too much unless she's bored.

And sorry but I miscalculated. Remus will appear in the next chapter.

**Question:** Want to see any pairings?

**Review!**

**\/**


	5. Chapter 5

**CLOSER**  
>by: Riseha<p>

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Chapter** **5:**  
><em>Remus Lupin<em>

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><p>"Don't tell anyone about last night, OK?" I whispered into Coral's ear. The Muggle girl nodded, hair brushing against my cheek as she returned my hug. I could feel the weight of puzzlement in the stares of Coral's parents. As far as they were concerned, Coral and I barely bonded. I smirked at the thought of knowing something they didn't.<p>

If there was something Germaine and I truly share without influence of this vessel, it was that we liked keeping secrets and people in the dark. Even if the secret turned out to be what we had ate in the morning.

I was the first to pull away from the hug. "Come find me if you ever come back here," I said, smiling.

She nodded. "Bye, Germaine!"

"Ta." I wiggled my fingers at her before pivoting on my heel and skipping back to Bathilda's house for today's lesson. After last night's success, I was feeling pretty energetic.

Energy that spiked when I saw who was sitting on the opposite of Bathilda. "Who're you?" I asked curiously, even though I was sure I knew who he was. Gray streaks were woven into his sandy hair and his amber eyes were ringed black; the weariness he felt wasn't entirely masked by his friendly smile.

"I'm Remus Lupin," he introduced himself, holding out a hand for me to shake. "You must be Germaine Grindelwald?" He didn't even bat an eyelash at the last name.

"Yes," I said, making a conscious effort to speak English. I didn't think it would be so hard. "Am I speaking English? Do you understand me?" What spilled from my mouth were garbled words I could barely understand.

Lupin pondered for a few minutes, a thoughtful expression settling on his face as I inspected his shabby robes, trying not to appear as rude. Before I was freed from Nurmengard, I was in a _worse_ condition than he was. "Sorry," he said. "I just need a few moments to dissect your thick accent."

I shrugged. "Fine. So you're my DADA tutor?"

"DADA?"

"Defense Against Dark Arts, dude, get with the times." I strode into the living room, closing the door behind me as I did so, where my lessons were conducted. My last tutor had taken maternity leave. And I guess Remus just really needed the job and Dumbledore was kind enough to lend a hand. To tell the truth, I was very excited about this. "What're we learning today? Dark Creatures? Dark Arts? Necromancy? The living dead creatures?" I asked, unable to mask the anticipation in my voice—warning him not to disappoint me with stupidly tame animals.

Remus cleared his throat: an awkward sound as Bathilda shuffled out with the promise of cookies and pumpkin juice. I had the feeling that Remus wasn't too pleased that the senile old woman was gone. "Well... are you _just_ knowledgeable about Dark creatures?"

"I like them," I said. "I mean, unicorns are stupidly boring. No challenge to dissect, no danger, no thrill of examining them..." Those were Germaine's words. And I continued, using Germaine's mindset to see what she would've said next. "If, like, I was offered the chance to dissect a werewolf or a unicorn, I definitely would've chosen the former. Don't you agree?" I asked, smiling all teeth at him.

The werewolf part was on purpose and from the uneasiness that flickered in his youthful but tired visage, he suspected as much. "Pardon me for saying so, but you smell of the dead."

"I like graveyards." I arched a brow. "Keen sense of smell, Mr Lupin," I commented casually, enjoying how his eyes flickered uncertainly. Deciding to play nice, I let him off the hook. "So, Mr Lupin—or do I have to call you Professor, Sensei, etc.?—what're we learning today?"

"Remus is fine. We're just the basics of Defense since you'll be going to Hogwarts next year anyway—"

"Do you teach Dark Arts?" I blurted out.

He blinked, looking quite stern in under a second. "No, Ms Grindelwald."

I deflated, disappointed. "OK."

**...**

Remus Lupin had seen a lot in his rather short life.

But he wasn't sure what to make of the great-granddaughter of the former Dark Lord Grindelwald: a man whose terror reigned in several other countries. Professor Dumbledore had warned him that he might not be able to handle the girl's eccentric personality: particularly her blunt personality, love for Dark Arts, Dark Creatures and Necromancy.

But he'd insisted anyway. Dumbledore had tracked him down for the sole purpose of tutoring the young girl, which represented the man's trust in him to handle the girl—who might or might not grow up to continue her ancestor's reign of terror. The last thing Wizarding Britain needed was for a powerful Dark Witch to join Voldemort. Or take over what the previous Dark Lords had failed to accomplish.

The girl was brilliant, intelligent and quick to learn. She had a very good memory and did her work quickly and efficiently. Remus was grading her recently finished quiz when she returned, placing the plate of Cauldron Cakes in front of him. She eyed him curiously.

Germaine's heterochromic ("Inbreeding," she said happily, blinking rapidly when she caught him looking for so long) eyes stared him down. She had seated herself directly in the seat where the shadows cast half of her face from sight: it was weird, as if she'd lost half her face.

Remus was almost glad when she shifted until her face was not shadowed.

"You should eat," she said this in a way that demanded he ate it. Or it was the accent. From what Dumbledore had told him, she'd lived her whole life in Nurmengard (the thought of a child living in prison made him sick to his stomach) and the accent was a mix of butchered Britain, Norwegian and Yorkshire accent—or maybe it was the Mermish language she was so fond of.

"I will," he returned pleasantly. Seeing her fidget in boredom, he decided the least he could do was speak to her to keep her occupied. "So, Germaine, enjoying life so far?"

"Yes," she said. "What about you? Happy with your life so far?"

Remus contemplated that but decided that the girl could live without knowing of his troubles. "Yes," he lied.

"Liar," said Germaine but she was still smiling. She can't seem to stop and the resemblance she had to her Dark Lord ancestor was hauntingly eerie. "Your eyes tell tons of lies. Oh, yeah, just now, you said I stink of the dead. Why?"

Remus cleared his throat quickly, realizing that she might've taken it the wrong way. She was ten but girls were girls—aka, sensitive creatures. "I did not mean to offend," he said hurriedly, "I was merely commenting on that. You don't sti—"

"You smell like..." She paused as she inhaled deeply. "Smell like the forest, sir. Do you sleep in forests often?"

_Sometimes,_ he thought darkly. "No."

"Heh." And she smirked like she didn't believe him. Remus was starting to see why Dumbledore labeled her as eccentric. She wasn't up to Dumbledore's level yet though. "What's your blood-status?"

Remus frowned but answered anyhow. "I'm a half-blood. You?"

She cocked her head in thought. "Hm... oh, right. Gramps said I was pure-blood. Inbreeding, y'know?" He nodded because he did know. "Are Mudbloods—"

"Don't say that," Remus cut in loudly, trying to look stern. "That is an extremely foul word, Germaine."

"I'll think of another term, for now, we stick with that. I know, it's old-fashioned but maybe you want me to say Mudblood in another language? I can say it in Mermish!" Remus stared and listened, bewildered as she made a series of high-pitched sounds, reminiscence of a crow's cawing and a lion's growling. Having never learned or heard Mermish in his life, Remus was forced to face the fact she might be lying—or she was being entirely truthful. "So, are the [cue high-pitched sounds] as dimwitted as Gramps said they are?"

"No," said Remus, voice high. "My dear friend was a Muggle-born and she was one of the brilliant witches I know."

Germaine looked him up and down. "That depends on how many witches you've met in your life." Her smirk was starting to infuriate Remus. Which was ridiculous: she was ten and he was at least twice her senior, he shouldn't let her get to him so easily. "You can't have met much decent witches."

"Her name was Lily Potter and she died fighting Voldemort," Remus announced loudly. "Ask Bathilda, she knows—"

"Knew," corrected Germaine dismissively, either ignoring or not noticing Remus' flinch. "Anyway, dying isn't such a good achievement. You're saying she's brilliant because you can't exactly talk bad about the dead. Not like I can judge her level of competence since she's dead..." she trailed off, eyes growing misty.

She tilted her head to look out the window, in the vague direction of the cemetery and Remus's gut turned to lead. He regretted ever mentioning Lily's name. He feared Germaine would desecrate his dear friends' grave for her own amusement.

"Germaine, don't —"

"I've raised Inferi and skeletons," interrupted Germaine, smiling at Remus as if this was supposed to reassure him. "I won't use their bodies for anything. Unless you want me to raise them...?" she offered.

"No thank you," said the werewolf quickly—too quickly.

Germaine grinned apologetically—as if she knew this too. "Sorry, are you done marking yet? Or would you like to continue tomorrow?" Her voice was kind and patronizing all the same: as if Remus was a fragile vase she tried hard not to break but couldn't really see what the fuss was about. Her eyes were fixed on his front, sympathy and amusement clouding them.

Remus glanced down, realizing that he'd snapped the quill.

He said that he was sorry and wondered, from the sympathetic smile, if Germaine knew he was apologizing for more than the loss of a quill.

**...**

If one were to ignore Germaine's fascination with the Dark Arts and constantly pestered him for stories concerning close encounters with death at the hands of Death Eaters—her history lessons had finally caught up with that and since Modern History was not Bathilda's forte, Remus was also her tutor in her aspect, and he sincerely wished she hadn't.

Germaine constantly demanded stories from him about his deadly encounters with Voldemort's army during the First Wizarding War.

Debating also became something of their past time.

Remus remembered one about werewolves; the amber-eyed man suspected she knew what he truly was. The werewolf debate was during when they were poring over Gilderoy Lockhart's books. Bathilda had bought them and the two were bowed over different books, reading.

Germaine was a quick reader—Remus assumed she was reading because the girl didn't seem the type to flip pages for pictures—and finished within an hour, waiting for Remus to finish Year with Yeti before she spoke. She'd been reading Wandering with Wolves which was fifty pages shorter than his book.

"This author is a fluke."

"Why?" he asked.

"They say he used a Homorphus charm—isn't that what we use to return someone's Animagus form into human?" Germaine looked imploringly at him for confirmation and he nodded. "Either the Wagga Wagga Werewolf is an Animagus or it's a potion gone wrong. This explicitly states that Wagga turned back into a human."

Remus let out a bitter snort. "There's no cure for lycanthropy."

Germaine smiled thinly. "That's because everyone is currently incompetent." She rested her chin on her hand. "I read the papers, apparently, the Ministry's best are working on a cure. I heard the Wolfbane potion is completed and werewolves are taking it now."

Yes, Remus had heard too but he had not enough money to buy the recipe. "Yes. It doesn't cure lycanthropy. It just lets us—er, the _werewolves_ to retain human consciousness."

"The bitten are transformed into werewolves through blood and saliva contact... huh... maybe... the transformation is the good guy?"

Germaine had the tendency to say odd things but Remus was still taken aback by that statement. Trying not to sound as if he was being strangled, Remus managed, "Good guy? Transforming is a good thing? Do you even _know_ of how torturous it is for them?" _For me_ went unsaid but Remus suspected Germaine heard him.

"Yeah, but maybe there's poison in the werewolves body that, y'know, transfers through saliva and blood and would've killed them if they hadn't transformed." Germaine pondered this, shrugging when she saw the expression on his face. "So, by transforming, they halted the poison's effects. What're an average werewolf's lifespan? Do you think the poison takes over?"

Germaine's eyes grew misty as she stared into space, thinking things beyond Remus' comprehension.

He cleared his throat a couple of times and waited for her to sink back into her body before they could resume their conversation. He smiled sadly. "You're thinking of creating a cure?"

"If I can. There're tons of things I don't know about, though. Of course, I suppose one would need a transformed werewolf sedated and chained for dissection and experiments." Germaine twirled a lock of wispy blonde hair, frowning in deep thought. "Anyway, werewolves are useful allies. I'd say... if I do have a cure, I'd use it as blackmail or something... what do you think about a dozen years of servitude before they can have the cure?" Germaine was scribbling on a piece of paper, frowning. Remus squinted but couldn't understand what she was writing: it was a mixture of multiple languages, both human and non-human languages. "Or maybe eternal allegiance? 'Course, we've gotta keep the cure to ourselves so they can't betray us. But then there are those wild beasts who like mauling others to take into consideration... hm, nothing Aurors can't kill, do you agree? They can also be used as experiments for other magical breakthroughs in progress..."

For a horrifying moment, Remus wanted to support her. Fenrir Greyback was the one who'd inflicted this curse upon him—and many others. Remus would have escorted the werewolf to Germaine. The girl was ten and innocent-looking but Remus had a feeling she could be very creative with tortures if she wanted to. Especially since she grew up in a prison where prisoners were tortured on a daily basis.

Remus swallowed thickly, unable to smile. "You dream big, Germaine." He sighed heavily. "But there are simply things in this world that can't be changed."

"A winner thinks not of how the world _is_; a winner thinks of how the world should _be_."

Privately, Remus hoped, prayed, and wished her enemy would not be Muggles and Muggle-borns.

**...**

"Where're you going, Germaine?"

I glanced back at Remus, smiling reassuringly. "It's nothing. I'm just going to take a walk around. Reading all day is a bore." And I walked away before he could offer to come.

The cemetery was the furthest I had been to in the small village. I wondered what was beyond that forest. How I found out? I walked right in, Bathilda's wand stuffed in my back pocket. The wand was not compatible with me but it was better than nothing and it was probably itching for some action: Bathilda forgot too often that she was a witch these days.

I listlessly marked my path with arrows, carved into tree trunks with a wave of the wand. Above me, Spy soared in the skies, circling me with a disapproving glare: I bet Albus set her up to it.

I needed her so I refrained from blasting her out of the skies.

I ducked under the tree branch, eyes taking in everything curiously. It wasn't until another fifteen feet to the east did I stumble upon something... out of place.

It was not extraordinary but the cave did give a chilling atmosphere: I entered, lighting the wand with a murmured, "Lumos." It was a good thing I had light or I would've fell into the pond and drowned - Germaine did not know how to swim for your information and it'd been years since I'd last went to the swimming pool for swimming lessons. There was something about this place...

I pursed my lips: Godric's Hollow was a wizarding community centuries ago, the wizards living here had numbered out, but there must have been a legacy, thinking back on it. Perhaps this was where wizards had hidden when witch-hunting was an active sport among the Muggles?

I definitely could feel magic pulsating here. Very, very deep down.

I need to learn the Bubble-Head Charm. I better head back and pester Remus.

I left after throwing the cave one last look of longing.

**...**

"Remus, can I ask you a favor?" I asked, smiling a dimpled smile at the man who was fast becoming a good friend. Despite the age difference.

He smiled kindly down at me. "Yes?"

"Can you accompany me to Diagon Alley? Albus' busy but he insists that I have a chaperon," Here, I paused to express the ire I felt at needing an adult to watch over me. I knew I was tiny, but did he have to rub it in? I continued, "And Bathilda is too old. I'm worried that she can't handle crowds well."

It had nearly been seven months since he became my tutor. And though he'd outlived his usefulness as a tutor, we kept him around because he was homeless and jobless and we (Albus, Bathilda and I) were too kind to let him suffer in the streets or in the forest.

Remus was a gentle person but he had been extremely vocal against my watching his transformation into a werewolf. I sulked around for a few hours before he was lucid and pelted him with questions. Remus was retching into the toilet bowl as he recounted what had happened though; apparently, he'd ate a live-rabbit without skinning it and he was extremely disgusted ("Can you tell me if your wastes are furred or rabbit-shaped?" "Germaine!" "Aunt Bathilda, let's have rabbit meat for dinner tonight! Hahaha!" "_GERMAINE!_").

Remus considered that for awhile. "All right," he said quietly. He wasn't used to crowds either since he'd been living with us except for that particular day at the full-moon and he'd gotten quite used to a quiet life in Godric's Hollow. He also earned extra money by working part-time as a librarian and with Aunt Bathilda's cooking, he was starting to look less-poor and pathetic: it was a nice change.

I smiled genuinely. "Thanks, Rem."

"It's Moony."

I blinked, looking up at him. "Huh?"

"That's my nickname, Germaine. My closest friends call me Moony."

"I think I know where that nickname comes from," I said thoughtfully.

Remus smiled. "It's easy to guess." He'd never confirmed to me about his status as a werewolf but it was unspoken. "Call me Moony, if you wish."

That was a genuine offer of friendship. Even as I tackled him into a hug, I distantly thought it was a little sad for him to have found a friend in an 10-year-old (since my birthday was on the last day of the year) instead of someone his age.

"Yay for Moony!"

**...**

"So this is Muggle London... Coral lives here?" I swiveled my head around to take in as much as possible about the city. I'd never been to London.

"Coral?" inquired Remus politely.

"My Muggle friend. We write to each other as often as possible. Mostly, she asks me for help with her homework. We drive Spy crazy with the constant messages we sent back and forth in a day," I told him.

"Would you like to visit her later?" he asked.

"Sure, if we have time to spare," I said, smiling. "It'd been awhile since I last saw her." My smile widened as my eyes locked onto the Leaky Cauldron. "Think I can drink?" It was a pointless question.

Remus was chiding me even as we entered the Leaky Cauldron and he led me right into Diagon Alley. I tuned him out as I struggled to take in everything. Remus took my hand, holding on firmly. "So that we don't get separated," he told me and led me deeper into the streets. "Let's get you fitted out first."

Madam Malkins was rather surprised to see me since I was too tiny for an eleven-year-old; but she smiled and greeted Remus pleasantly. "It's been years, my dear boy!" she cried rapturously, eyes flickering with an emotion that was not pleasure. "Is this your daughter, Remus?" There was a trembling note to her voice.

He chortled. "Dear Merlin, no—" I pinched his hand. "—Germaine's sweet but she's a bit too intelligent to be my daughter." I felt my cheeks heat up slightly. I seem smart because I had more knowledge than an ordinary 11-year-old and I had a feeling he was just trying to flatter me. "I don't have anyone special yet. Germaine's, ah, the niece of a friend."

Madam Malkins smiled at him. "Remus, you're a nice man, I'm sure ladies would be clamoring to get their hands on you if you spend more time with crowds. _Socialize,_ my dear boy."

Remus smiled feebly. "Well, you'll get Germaine fitted out, I hope? I'll buy her books and head to the apothecary for her."

When he left, Madam Malkins rounded on me like a worried mother hen; her brows were furrowed tightly: a stark contrast to her pleasant, business-woman smile. "What's with that expression?" I asked, mildly amused. "You look like you have a bad case of constipation."

She didn't seem to find me funny. "Are you hurt?" I blinked, shaking my head, mystified. "Not a werewolf?" I laughed derisively. "That's not a laughing matter, young lady. The full moon is around the corner and you best be careful around him. No, better yet, you stay away from him during that time. Let's get you fitted, shall we?" Grumbling about parents' inadequacy to set proper boundaries for werewolves from children, she set to work.

I sighed heavily. Remus wasn't exaggerating the mistreatment of werewolves around. And this was coming from a woman who had knew him since he was an innocent 11-year-old.

I hoped people would be more open-minded. And I prayed I would be able to invent the cure.

I was sliding off the stool when someone entered the shop. I looked up to see a blonde-haired boy with a triangular face ending in a pointed chin and haughty silver eyes entering the shop. He sneered when he saw me. "Muggle-born?" he asked with a thin-lipped smile as he pointedly chose the other chair.

"I'm a pure-blood," I sneered back. "Don't you recognize me?"

"I know you?" He looked doubtful; his mind was probably racing to find a memory of me.

"I saw you sniveling after your gramps popped his clogs." Now that was wording it crudely but seeing his expression slid into one of shock and indignation, it was well worth it. I sneered. "I was with Dumbledore, remember? And you were clinging to your mother's skirts. Boo-hoo." Laughing at the flush rising to his cheeks, I darted out of the shop, ignoring Remus' stern order to stay where I was until he picked me up.

I was an adult in a child's body.

But as I darted out into the streets of Diagon Alley, I found that being a child was better than who I was before.

**...**

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><p><strong>Q: <strong>_Is Germaine overly... unnatural/creepy? Would be you be creep out if you were forced to be be locked in the same room as she for a couple of days?_

**Review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**CLOSER**  
>by: Riseha<p>

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

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><p>I wandered around, practically pressing my face into the window as I peered in for anything interesting, before I found what I was looking for—Ollivander's wand shop. I entered just as a fellow Hogwarts-student-to-be exiting with an excited grin, his parents each had a hand on his shoulder.<p>

I stared for, perhaps, too long, my hand resting on the doorknob.

Parents.

How long had it been since I last thought of my own parents?

After so many years, it was normal to assume I was dead in that world, right? I'd rather they thought so instead of clinging to false hope. I was enjoying life here; Germaine was happy and so was I. I'd quite forgotten their faces even though I sketched their faces from memory as best as I could (I was not the best artist around but I got by).

Did Germaine miss her parents? There was a pang there as I imagined Germaine's parents. She wished she'd knew them but Grandfather Gellert was more of a compensation: he was a godsend and Germaine loved him enough to take the Killing Curse for him.

"Miss?"

I blinked, looking round to see an old man—positively ancient even when compared to Dumbledore—with silver eyes peering at me curiously. His eyes softened. "Come on in," he said as if I was a guest. "Where're your parents... or guardians?" he asked kindly once we'd entered his dark, cramped and dusty shop.

I sniffled, rubbing my eyes. "They're gone," I said mournfully, trying to cover up my mortification at being caught showing weakness in public. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide forever! "Guess I've got my whole life to get used to that, haha..." Even to my own ears, my laugh was weak.

"New Hogwarts student?" he asked, changing the subject to a less-painful one instead. I nodded. "Here for a wand?" I nodded again, trying not to roll my eyes at the ridiculously stupid question. Though it _did_ cross my mind that he was being purposely stupid to cheer me up.

Ollivander's mood seem to lift at the thought of fitting me with a new wand. "Here, try this dogwood wand... it's bound for a wizard with a good sense of humor and can always make its wielder laugh." It was not my fated. I smiled sadly as he took it away.

We were there for quite awhile. The shuffling as he rummaged around for my wand was strangely tranquil.

Until, of course, the door flew open and Remus' voice cried out, "Germaine!" even as someone else yelped in pain. I turned, eyes widening.

"Oh, sorry," said Remus distractedly to the newcomer. He had jet-black hair and brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow even under the sun's bright glare. Remus froze like an ice-sculpture. Ollivander was not perturbed even as the young boy rubbed his sore forehead.

"Eh?" said a loud, unfamiliar voice that jumped into the conversation. "'S 'at yer, Remus?"

Remus paled several more shades; he raised his hazel eyes to face the giant of a man, and choked out a, "Hullo, Hagrid."

"Hey ya!" The giant named Hagrid ushered his charge and Remus in, grinning widely behind that wild beard and bushy brows. "'ong time no see! How'e yer holdin' up?"

"Fine," murmured Remus in response.

"Moony?" I called for his attention and he mechanically turned to me. I waved him in and he entered obediently, absentmindedly holding the door for the boy to enter. I smiled at the sight of those two. At least the boy's appearance had saved me from an hour-long lecture. "Well, sorry for running off like that. I was getting impatient." I squinted at his empty hands. "Did you shrink them into your pockets?"

Remus nodded, as if in a trance.

That was when Hagrid looked down and saw me. His brows nearly shot past his headline. "Who's dat?" he asked curiously, pointing at me.

"My charge," answered Remus coolly.

He made sure I was between him and his best friend's son. I turned to the boy who eyed us curiously. My eyes flicked up the scar. "Cool scar," I commented idly.

"Ah..." he started uncertainly. "Thanks?"

"You should be happy. I'm complimenting you—I don't do compliments much."

"I see," he said dubiously, as if in doubt he should be flattered.

"I'm Germaine Grindelwald. You?" There was a violent snap as Hagrid collapsed; the small stool unable to hold his weight well.

"Oh, Harry Potter." He held out a hand to shake and I took it, shaking it gingerly, ignoring how Ollivander crashed into a shelf and did not emerge. Harry turned but I grinned. Remus took that as an excuse to get further away from Harry as he rushed to Ollivander's aid.

"I wonder whose name he's surprised of," I mused. "Probably yours?"

He was a keen observer; Harry perked up. "Oh, you're famous too?" He blushed at his tone and the 'too'. I didn't think too much about it.

"Not really. My family is though. In particular, my great-grandfather. He's a Dark Lord."

Harry's face turned ashen. "Voldemort?" There was another resounding crash, followed by Hagrid's, "Dun' say 'dat name!"; I failed to stifle the chuckle.

I barked out a laugh. "Oh my gosh—no!" I smiled. "Nothing of the sort. My great-grandfather's in prison. He didn't specifically terrorize Britain. You should look up Gellert Grindelwald to find out more about him. He was way past our time. He's also over a century old."

"A century old?" stammered Harry, seeming startled. Amusing how he lingered on that last comment than the former few about my ancestor being a Dark Lord.

"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Wizards have longer lifespans than Muggles." Before Harry could comment, Ollivander and Remus came staggering back in with boxes of wands. Ollivander darted me a nervous look and a curious glance at Harry.

"Ah, well. Ms... er, Ms G- Grindelwald—you first. Why don't you try this? Red oak, twinned dragon heartstring, thirteen inches and supple."

My eyes fell upon it and instantly, I knew it was the one. I couldn't describe the feeling properly. Was it like love at first sight? Maybe. But it was a tug in my navel: the wand imploring me to come forward and take it, to carve my destiny with it. I gladly did as called.

I waved my hand, silver and red sparks bursting from the tip of the wand. "How much is this?"

"Er..." Ollivander looked awkward but eventually answered, "Five Galleons. No more." He looked too relieved to have me out of his shop.

"Come on, Moony, let's go." I took Remus' hand and guided him away when he didn't seem able to move. I waved at Harry and nodded curtly at Hagrid—Remus mimicked me. "See ya at Hogwarts, Harry!"

He smiled. "See ya, Germaine. It was nice to meet you."

Remus cast one last, long look back before following me, oddly subdued.

**...**

"Did you know him?" I asked as casually as possible once we were sitting in the Knight's Bus back to Godric's Hollow. Remus was holding tightly onto the handle provided but I bounced excitedly on the bed as the Bus temporarily stopped for a new passenger to enter.

I was the only one in the Knight's Bus to enjoy the ride. I was whooping and laughing as we sped down the Muggle streets at a death-defying pace. Remus—and the other passengers who were green in the face—looked at me as if I was a freak. Technically, I was a freak of nature.

I didn't think anyone had a second life. At least not within the bus. Who knows, I thought as I gazed out at the windows, maybe there were Muggles who were currently living their second lives but did not possess magic?

"Hey, Moony?"

"Hm?"

"I think I'm going to study about reincarnation next." Gellert had told Germaine (me) a lot about the Deathly Hallows as bedtime stories. To be honest, I was very interested in the Resurrection Stone.

"You do that, Sparky."

That nickname was stemmed from the fact I could not sit still and he described me as a lively and high-spirited person. Something that highly amused me. But he was mostly used to my blurting out my thoughts—or ideas—at inappropriate times. Such as the time I asked him if lycanthrophy could be inherited through genes we spied a couple sucking faces (he was trying to pull me away to give them some privacy).

I didn't think he knew I did that mostly because I wanted to annoy him.

"Anyway," I said, coming back to reality to see that Remus was still lost in his train of thoughts. "You haven't answered me."

He slid back to reality with a jerk. "Huh?"

"Did you know Harry Potter?"

He offered me a sad, forced smile. "Who doesn't know the Savior of the Wizarding World?" he sounded a tad bitter.

"Judging from your tone and facial expression," I said slowly, "I can deduce you know him on a personal level. Well, his origins at least." I shot him a quelling look to stop the protests and denials. "I always see you visiting James and Lily Potter's graves and I knew instantly that you had a deeper connection with them—you're talking to them as if they're friends and not stones."

Remus chuckled weakly. "Nothing escapes you, Sparky."

"Something did escape me. It's bugging me since the thing that escaped me was how sad my friend is and I don't know how to help him."

Remus sighed. "His parents and I... we're friends."

"I know," I said. "Weren't you listening when I speculated that much?" I caught guilt swimming in his expression. "You were pretty close friends but you didn't even bother to check up on their son?" Remus flinched: spot on. "I'm here when you're ready to talk. I'm guessing your predicament made it hard?"

"Partly," answered Remus with a resigned sigh. "But I didn't know where Harry lived either. I just knew Dumbledore moved him to his relatives but where, he failed to mention. I think Dumbledore didn't want anyone to know because Death Eaters might harm him and he might still suspect spies within our ranks."

I frowned thoughtfully. "Why the guilt then? It's not your fault if this is how Dumbledore wants it to be."

"Did you see how thin he is?" Bitterly, he added, "Lily and Petunia have a bad relationship. I'm betting everything I own that Petunia never gave Harry any sort of affection."

"He looked quite starved," I commented, realizing that it was a bad thing to say but didn't refrain because I believed in blunt honesty and seeing the reactions and emotions people showed intrigued me. Remus buried his face in his hands and the conversation ended there. Just as well: the bus was speeding back to Godric's Hollow.

And I laughed.

**...**

I hugged Bathilda tightly, inhaling her old lady scent. My mind flashed to Voldemort's desecrating her body to hide Nagini and my grip on her tightened possessively. I pulled back first, smiling sadly at her. "Well, Aunt, I've got to go."

Bathilda smiled vaguely at me, patting my blonde head. "Yes, yes, Gellert. You do that... be sure to invite the Dumbledores back for dinner. Godric knows those poor dears couldn't feed themselves properly without their mother. Too much for Albus to bear I dare say..."

Remus looked concerned about the times Bathilda was living in. I waved him away. I'd gotten used to it.

Remus wanted to take the Floo network but I dislike it and insisted upon the Knight's Bus. To be fair, he could just Apparate there and wait for me but he didn't do so because he didn't trust me not to cause trouble on the way. Honestly. I accidentally tripped, shoved the driver and nearly killed us all_ just that one time_ and he won't let it go. What a guy; he was like Bathilda, living in the past I mean.

"Remember," said Remus sternly to me once he regained his composure from the hellish ride, "you will behave."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, Dad."

"You will address Dumbledore as Professor Dumbledore. Not Albus, do you understand Sparky?"

I sighed. "End this lecture already, Moony."

His eyes softened considerably when it hit him he wouldn't be seeing me for about ten months. He crouched and to my surprise, hugged me. I was startled; I mean, I knew we considered the other to be good friends but he'd never actually initiated physical contact and neither had I.

I was rather tense but eventually returned the hug (by patting him awkwardly on the back) before he pulled away; he ruffled hair. "You know you just have to walk straight through the barrier?"

I smiled. "If I miss anything, just send it with Spy. If not, send her anyway. I don't think I'd like the owls in the Owlery from what you've described to me." Remus nodded, he cast the barrier one, wistful look of longing. "You can just walk with me," I offered.

"No. I'm scared of what other parents would say about you if they saw you in my company. It's hardly a secret these days." I was pretty sure he was lying and he just didn't want to bring up painful memories of his Hogwarts days and possibly meeting James' son.

I cast him a pitying look. "Alright." I was holding the shrunken trunk in my pocket. I waved at Remus before darting towards the platform between 9 and 10.

I didn't get very far when someone called out my name. "Germaine!" I stopped, surprised that someone had called me: for it was not Remus' voice. I turned, arching a brow when I saw the familiar green-eyed boy and his even more famous scar. "Thank—goodness—I—_wheeze_—caught up..." he trailed off, gasping for breath.

"Did you run a marathon to catch me or something?" I asked, mildly amused. I patted his back. "You're here alone I see."

Harry Potter straightened, looking around. "You, too."

"Moony left, he says he's busy with other stuff."

"Who's he?" asked a curious Harry.

"My tutor and caretaker. We're not blood-related if you're wondering." I studied him as I spoke, realizing that he was almost a good head taller than me. This sucks since he was pretty small already. I climbed onto his trolley. "Now wheel me forth!" I cried in Norwegian. Harry glanced quizzically at me. "Forward, Harry," I repeated in English, rolling my eyes. "There, now go straight through the barrier."

"Er," he looked in the direction I was pointing. "You positive? What if we crash?"

"Then I'd hit it first, no? Just go." Harry walked at a snail's pace. I scoffed good-naturedly. "I'm not that heavy that you can't push it anymore, am I?"

Harry burst out laughing, sounding surprised himself. "No! I'm just worried that you'd get hurt if you're wrong."

"That's sweet," I sneered, "but either you pick up the pace or we'll really run right into it. This needs to be taken at a death-defying pace so come on! Or I'll push you instead." This seemed to be enough incentive as Harry started off as a jog then he broke into a run.

I felt the coolness, the barrier spilled past us as we emerged in Platform 9 and 3/4: it was similar to walking past the shower without bathing. "I think we should leave the trolley here and move on foot," I spoke loudly to draw Harry's attention. His eyes were wide as they roamed everywhere, trying to pick up everything that was offered though I did not find the sight of owls and families interesting other than envy-educing.

Harry nodded absentmindedly and he wheeled us to the line where other trolleys were already parked. I got off and waited as he gathered his trunk. He noticed, for the first time, that I didn't have my trunk and wasted no time pointing that out.

"We live in a world of magic," I said, digging in my pocket for my magically shrunken trunk and showing it to him. "No surprise there," I added cheekily when his jaw dropped.

"You've got to teach me that spell!"

"Sure," I agreed with a shrug as we climbed aboard the train. "We're sitting together, right? Or are you going to look for boys to sit with since boys around this age seem to think girls have cooties?"

Harry blushed. "No, I'm fine... sitting with you. I'd like it very much, in fact."

Together, we boarded the train. He glanced me; shrugging, I led him down the right path and he followed. "That looks pretty heavy," I said, fumbling for the wand I kept in my pocket. I'd practiced every spell Moony had taught me and from what I'd read in the spellbooks. I couldn't find it among the mess I kept in my pocket. Well... I wanted to try wandless magic anyway.

Frowning, I raised my hand, concentrating on the magical core within me. "Um, let see._ Wingdardium Leviosa_!" I jerked my hand and the trunk lifted. Harry's mouth parted in surprise. "Come on, let's see if there are any empty places."

"Here," spoke Harry after we passed at least five compartments. He slid the door open and ducked in, letting the trunk float past him before I entered. I placed the trunk on the ground next to his feet before plopping down in the seat opposite of him.

Harry edged towards the window, peering out as the train whistled loudly and started moving. "I'm so excited about this," he murmured. I assumed that he was talking to me so I decided to respond.

"Yeah, me too. We're going to learn magic." I expected to see a smile or something but his face fell. I quirked a brow. "What's wrong?"

"I bet..." Harry turned around to face me; I lounged in the empty space, treating it as a couch and laid on my front, kicking my legs behind me as I pulled a novel from my right pocket and laid in front of me. I was small enough to fit entirely on that side of the seat. "Er, how did that large book fit in your pocket?"

"Undetectable Extension Charm. Remus charmed it. So, what did you bet?" I prompted, turning to the page I left off. It was a Muggle novel and I was enjoying myself. I just hoped Germaine's body would be immune to motion sickness.

"That I'm the worst in class," he said miserably, in a low whisper.

"Then take your textbook out and start studying," I advised. "You should start with Potions," I added thoughtfully, recalling Snape's disastrous first lesson. "I heard from Albus—that's the Headmaster of our school—that Snape—the Potions Master—is very strict."

"He teaches Potions... uh, right, this is my textbook." I saw Harry fumbling with his trunk before throwing it open and rummaging for his books. He pulled the required book out before stuffing the rest in. He seemed embarrassed.

"Not very neat, are you?" I asked sardonically. He shook his head ruefully. "Me neither. Remus packed for me because he said I was hopeless."

"Remus really cares for you, huh?" Harry sounded truly wistful and I instantly felt sorry for him.

I glanced awkwardly at him. "Uh... that's his job: caring for me. Albus hired him, after all. But I guess we share mutual love... like family, I guess."

"You come from a family full of wizards?"

"Yes. Having a Dark Lord for a great-grandfather usually implies that," I said, looking up when I heard footsteps shuffling close to our compartment. There were two, large, burly boys. I lost interest. "Jeez. When's the lunch lady coming?"

"They serve lunch?" asked Harry curiously. "Is it on the house or do we have to pay?"

"Treats and snacks to keep us sustained for a grand, welcoming feast at Hogwarts; so says Remus. And yes, you have to pay. It's not lunch yet, I suppose," I mumbled, feeling my stomach growling. "You don't happen to have any snack?"

Harry shook his head apologetically. "My relatives aren't exactly... accommodating."

"Your tone implies something darker than forgetfulness," I noted, all interest in my book lost. I was openly staring at him. "You're very thin."

He smiled wryly. "You're very small and thin, too. You don't look eleven."

"Can't be helped since I spent years in prison," I returned casually. "Anyway, my birthday falls on the last day of the year. Technically, I'm not eleven."

"Uh, prison?" Harry's face twisted into one of confusion: evidently, he didn't know whether I was pulling his leg or I was being serious.

"Nurmengard," I answered. "Look it up. It's—" There was a loud bang and the window to our compartment shattered. I reeled back quickly but pieces of glass had already landed in my hair. "Gah!" I card my fingers through my hair, hearing yells and Harry's cry of, "Germaine!"

I hastily picked up my novel and retreated along with Harry, further back into our compartment. "Jeez. Fighting?" I plunged my hands into my hoodie's pocket, rummaging around for my wand but found that it was buried beneath my lunchbox: Bathilda's homemade Cauldron Cakes. I pulled the lunchbox out. "Oh, hey, what do you know? I do have lunch! Ah, spending so much time with a senile lady must've dulled my memory."

"Senile old lady?" Harry repeated blankly.

I concentrated on the broke pieces of glass; I raised a finger to direct the glasses back into place. "Reparo!" Pleased that I could at least manage that, I sat down, rested the lunchbox in my lap. "Good, she cut it into slices. Want some? Aunt Bathilda makes the best Cauldron Cakes."

"Uh... thanks," he said, when I forced it into his hands. As we ate, he spoke, "So, you were raised by your aunt also?"

"I said senile old lady, didn't I? She's actually my great-great-grandaunt but I didn't want to bore you with the greats." Harry's mouth dropped open. "She's Bathilda Bagshot, the author of A Hogwarts History. Gone bonkers in her later years, though, pity. She had a brilliant mind. Remus' also hired to take care of her, by the way. I 'spect he'll be staying with her even when I'm gone."

"You also said Nurmguard—a prison?" he prompted, frowning.

"Ah, yes. I was sent there when I was three-years-old." I noticed his horrified expression and quickly went on, "It wasn't anything personal. I was used as a control. Gellert Grindelwald had attempted breakout numerous attempts that resulted in a lot of deaths so they brought me in. I shared a cell with him for most of my life."

Harry looked appalled. "They'd... they'd do that to a kid?"

"Not the British Ministry. Nurmengard is in another country: Norway. Anyway, that doesn't matter. I want to hear more about you," I said earnestly. "I'm just a descendant of a Dark Lord who fell from grace. You survived the Killing Curse! The Boy Who Lived!"

"Is it true?" interrupted a loud, obnoxious voice as the door to our compartment was thrown open and in entered a platinum-blonde haired boy. "That you're Harry Potter?"

Harry blinked. "Yes..." We turned to look at the new arrivals. Flanked by two large, overgrown boys with dreamy expressions on their faces, was the boy I'd seen crying over his grandfather's death.

"Hello, crybaby Blondie," I greeted without missing a beat, flashing the best smile in my arsenal.

"That was one time and you won't let it go?" he cried in scandalized tones. His bodyguards flexed their muscles threateningly in response to Malfoy's cries of distress.

Harry glanced between us curiously. "You know one another?"

"No," I said. "I met him in St. Mungo's—that's the Wizarding hospital—then encountered him again in Madam Malkin's." Harry nodded, satisfied.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," said the blonde boy, extending a hand for Harry to shake, pointedly ignoring me. "These two are Crabbe and Goyle."

Harry took it, smiling slightly. "I'm Harry Potter."

Malfoy sniffed disdainfully before thrusting his hand in my direction. I took it and gripped it tightly; he winced. "Germaine Grindelwald, at your service."

Draco's jaw dropped. "What?" he cried, shocked. "You're pulling my leg!"

I felt faintly pleased. "Up to date on your history, are you? I thought everyone these days are so scared of Voldemort that they forgot Grindelwald before him." Draco and his cronies flinched at the mention of the name.

"D-Don't say his name!"

"I thought your father served him?" I questioned mildly. "Groveled at his feet... kissed his robes... did his bidding..."

Harry's expression was darkening. "You... your family works for Voldemort?" he asked in a deadly whisper, casting a not-so-friendly look at Draco and his cronies. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged confused glances.

"Serve, Harry, _serve_. Lord Voldemort did not hire nor did he pay them." I corrected, ignoring Draco's reddening face. "There's a difference there. But, yeah. Those group are called Death Eaters. They're mentioned in books but I don't think names are written and Mr Malfoy got off the hook."

"Stop talking about father like that!" said Draco angrily.

"I was merely telling the truth. If you can't handle that, please, by all means, _leave_."

Harry glanced between me and Draco but decided not to get involve. "Or we can talk about something else," sniffed Draco, seeing no reason to leave. "Which Houses do you think you'll be in?"

Harry balanced his Potions textbook on his knee, blinking, obviously bewildered. I took pity on him and decided to explain. "There're four Houses in Hogwarts: Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and —"

"Slytherin!" Draco piped up, plopping next to Harry who had gone back to reading his textbook. "My whole family came from there. We're the best. My godfather says that Slytherin has been winning the House Cup several years in a row now."

"Sit down," I told Crabbe and Goyle as Draco launched into an explanation about Hogwarts Houses, the House Cup, the point system and eventually, Quidditch.

"Er, where?" asked the shorter one.

"In another compartment," I answered coolly, "because I'm not moving."

"Hey, Draco, you don't mind if we leave?" asked the taller boy. Draco waved them away with a careless hand. I saw Harry's frown deepening. Goyle and Crabbe marched out as Draco started describing all the brooms he'd owned.

"—wanted to give me Comet 240. Of course I said no! It's outdated, I'll be a laughing stock. Theodore Nott has a 260, so I told Dad to get me a Comet 280. I have the best there is! What about you?"

"I was raised by Muggles," said Harry quietly, "I don't have a broom."

"Bummer," said Draco but he didn't seem too sorry. Then he started talking about the last Quidditch World Cup.

Harry caught my eye._ He talks a lot_, he mouthed to me and I chuckled.

Ducking my head, I went back to my novel.

**...**

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><p><strong>About Ron's involvement in the story;<strong> he probably won't be friends with them until second year ... well, be prepared for a surprise next chapter.

**Question:** Can you imagine Germaine killing someone with no remorse? Why?

**Review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**CLOSER**  
>by: Riseha<p>

**Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling**

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><p><strong>Chapter 7:<br>**_Ride to Hogwarts_

* * *

><p>"Anything from the trolleys, dearies?" asked a kindly voice, sounding distorted and distant to my ears. Someone was poking my shoulder repeatedly, albeit gently. Sleepily, I blinked, pushing myself up to see who was bothering me. I squinted into green, green eyes.<p>

"Have anyone ever told you," I slurred sleepily, "that your eyes are the exact shade of the Avada Kedavra spell?"

Harry Potter looked quizzically at me. "Germaine, are you speaking Norwegian?" He was balancing a bunch of snacks in his arms. He dumped most of it in the empty seat beside me, waving the witch away with a thanks.

I sharpened to attention. "Oh, you bought a lot," I commented. "May I?"

Harry nodded. "I picked as many as I can. I don't know which one you'd like so I bought a bit of everything—"

I blinked, surprised. "Whoa. You bought it for me?"

He nodded sheepishly. "If you don't like it—"

"I've to pay you back," I said, reaching for the pouch of Galleons Remus had filled for me.

"No, it's OK. Really, I insist—!"

"You're too polite for your own good," I said wearily, half-amused, half-pleased that I'd lost the war of give-and-take. In the end, I didn't pay his Galleon back. These must cost a lot, I thought, as I unwrapped a Chocolate Frog. There was a nagging bug in the back of my mind: someone was supposed to be here.

I snapped the limbs of the Chocolate Frog to prevent it from running. "This is how you eat it," I told a dismayed Harry who watched as his frog escaped him. "Oh, this is very good. I've always liked chocolate."

Harry was starting on his Cauldron Cakes though. He made a face once he bit into it. "Your aunt's baking skills make this taste like cardboard."

I laughed. "I'm sure she'll be happy to hear that... once she remembers that she actually makes Cauldron Cakes." I shook my head fondly at the thought of Aunt Bathilda.

Harry chortled. "This is fun. I like sampling all these."

"Careful not to get fat. You won't be a good Quidditch player then," I warned him, voice teasing.

"Flying sounds like fun. Now, I really can't wait to get to Hogwarts. Too bad first-years can't join..."

I blinked, noticing for the first time that someone very obnoxious was missing. "Hey, where's Blondie?"

Something like anger rippled across Harry's pale-skinned face. "He tried to hex you, when you were asleep," he elaborated quietly. "I didn't let him and I kicked him out after a brief row; I'm surprised we didn't wake you up. I might've said some unpleasant things... do you think I should apologize?" He sounded cross at the very idea.

That brat tried to hex me? He was lucky I wasn't I awake to curse his balls off. I coughed, realizing that my mind was straying into very violent territory. To distract myself, I peered out the window to see the scenery speeding away from us. "Thanks," I finally murmured. "It's a good thing to do. I would've done much worse to him if I'd been awake."

Harry smiled faintly. "Somehow, I don't doubt that." He went back to inspecting his card. "So this is the Albus you were talking about?" He blinked. "Where did the picture go?"

"Pictures in the Wizarding world don't stay still. I s'ppose the Albus there went to visit other portraits." I added, "He likes ten-pin bowling. He has a private room in Hogwarts that's entirely that. Albus brought me there before, to play. It's fun though he sprained his back once."

Harry choked on a laugh. "Really?" he asked through breathless giggles.

"Yeah," I said, grinning at the memory. "Good thing Remus was there or I would've left Albus there."

"He sounds like a nice and funny person," commented Harry, but his voice trailed off as he reread the card; his green eyes bulged in disbelief. "Wait. If Albus Dumbledore defeated the Dark Lord Grindewald—?" His voice was filled with incredulity.

"Something the matter?" I asked blandly. "Perhaps, you're wondering why I don't hate him for placing my grandfather—the greats are a bore—in prison? Wondering why I knew him so personally?" Mutely, Harry nodded. "'Coz he and my extended family are old friends." Harry looked doubtful but I ignored his skeptical expression and continued, "The Dark Lord and he were friends actually. For the summer at least, until they broke off their friendship. Decades later, Grindewald became the Dark Lord, terrorized many countries before Albus stopped him. I was an innocent kid thrown into the prison for years. He came to save me of course. Oh, for your information, the Dumbledores and Bagshots were family friends and neighbors, so yeah, I saw a lot of him."

Harry's face was pale. "You really... were in prison?" A long, heavy silence fell before, very tentatively, he asked, "What's it like in there?"

"Horrible. Cramp. Dark. Dirty. Painful. Cold. Depressing. Torturous." Germaine's words. Even though it was not me, I shuddered. "It's hell there. Gramps' presence made it bearable though—he made sure I was never loveless. He was the one who taught me how to read, write and count. He also taught me a lot about magic, but of course, nothing practical."

Harry was clearly digesting that information. Silence fell between us and it felt somewhat awkward and sad to me. I squirmed, trying to find a way to lift the mood: I didn't deserve the pity, it wasn't me, it was Germaine that had went through that pain.

"Your life was much worse than mine. And here I was, lamenting about my treatment at the Dursleys."

"No worries," I said, brushing him off. "Most kids aren't half as thoughtful as you are. You should count yourself lucky you came out so mature and intellige—my, aren't we popular today? Is there something we can help you with, Ms...?"

"Granger," answered the girl in a bossy tone of voice. She had rather large front teeth and bushy light brown hair; her brown eyes were inquisitively taking in everything. "Hermione Granger. A boy named Neville lost his toad. Have you seen one?"

"No, but we can try Summoning him." Granger paused, arching a brow. "Step into the compartment—leave the door open. We ought to leave an opening for the toad to enter."

"How are you going to Summon it?" she asked.

"With magic," I said, voice practically sagging with sarcasm. "Do you know the toad's name? Any specifics? Its color perhaps?"

Granger tapped her chin, remembering. "Its name is Trevor. Let's see you perform magic," she announced haughtily, sitting down beside Harry, uninvited. "Where's your wand?"

"I don't need it," I said confidently. I raised my hand, palms up, imagining invisible tendrils stretching out and latching onto a toad. "Accio Trevor!" I concentrated on the pull of magic and reigned it in. Harry and Hermione were looking curiously outside. There was a scream, "Frog!" that broke my concentration.

Trevor the toad flopped onto the floor in front of me. It croaked and made to leap away but Hermione threw herself forward and caught it in her palms, grimacing only slightly at the slimy texture. "Thanks, um, I don't think I've heard your names."

"I'm Germaine," I answered, getting tired of the Dark Lord discussion. "He's Harry." And the Boy Who Lived stories too.

"Such as Harry Potter?" she asked shrewdly, directing narrowed brown eyes at the brunette who looked uncomfortable.

"No, such as Harry Robbins."

I was being sarcastic but it went past Hermione's head and even Harry looked gratefully at me. Her face fell in disappointment. "Oh," she said softly. "Well, I'll return this toad to Neville."

"And take some with you," Harry said hastily, shoving Cauldron Cakes, Chocoballs and pumpkin pastries into her hands. "It's too much for us."

Hermione looked bewildered, but she accepted it graciously. "Thank you—for finding the toad and the treats." With a minuscule smile, she disappeared down the aisle.

I was just wondering when I'd see her again when she came rushing back. It had barely been five minutes. "Hello, Hermione," I greeted casually as she plopped down beside Harry. Again, I had taken up the entire space on one side, leaving the spot next to Harry empty. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to say your wandless magic is very impressive," said Hermione pompously. "I've practiced with Trevor but it doesn't seem to be working. He only made it halfway to me before falling."

"That's better than nothing," I told her. "You just got to really concentrate... I'm not sure myself. I've always been sensitive to magic. When I said the name of the spell, I felt my magic literally seeping out of me to ensnare Trevor and pull him to me. That's why Summoning things come easily to me."

Hermione looked puzzled. "When I use magic, there's no such feeling." She turned to Harry. "Did you feel anything?" she practically demanded.

I shrugged. I didn't want to go into details about how I came to be that way but I was pretty sure it was because I was not Germaine. Undoubtedly, you would be acutely aware of something very much foreign to you, no?

Hermione was talking. "— I've tried a few simple ones myself, and they've all worked for me. Nobody in my family is magic at all, so it was ever a surprise when I've got my letter, but I was ever so pleased about it anyways. I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft and wizardry—I've learned all the course books by heart and I do hope it would be of use—have you?"

Great. I'd forgotten how annoying tiny!Hermione can be. She thought magic was all about theory? Gramps would've smacked her and deemed her a failure. What an insult... Mudbloods striding into the Wizarding World and pretending they knew everything about it ... and what was worse? Those pure-bloods actually lost to her!

I rubbed my forehead, trying to ignore the tinny voice screeching in my ear. Great, I was hearing voices.

Harry looked stunned. "Um, I'm halfway through Potions. But I haven't memorize anything yet. I just got the gist of it."

"Reading it is better than not reading," sniffed Hermione, but she gave Harry an approving look. "I saw boys around our age. First-years, but they're just messing around and discussing Kaydish—"

I laughed hysterically. "I think you meant Quidditch, Hermione," I said.

She reddened slightly at being corrected but the color quickly left her face as indignation took over. "I mean, aren't they nervous about being dunderheads in class?" She looked accusingly at us.

"I don't want to be dead-last, that's for sure," I agreed. "That would be embarrassing and Gramps would kill me slowly and painfully."

Harry shot me an alarmed look that said, _Seriously?_ but he mumbled, "Me neither."

"Hey! You _are_ Harry Potter!" Harry had shifted in his seat, causing his bangs that hid his scar to fall away. "Why did you lie?"

"I was being sarcastic," I sighed. Interacting with so many kids was tiring. But I think there was something mentioning that Silencing them when they start talking too much wasn't an ethical thing to do. Dunno, might've missed something with Moony's lessons.

"I've read a lot about you," she told Harry. "But I _am_ curious to know about the real person."

Harry smiled nervously. "Yeah, I hope we can get along well." He clearly had never dealt with someone like her before and did not know how react properly. He looked at me for guidance. I shrugged my shoulders, smiling.

"What about you? I don't know your last name," Hermione turned her attention to me, looking extremely curious.

"Grindelwald. Yeah, let's leave it at that, OK?"

**...**

Hermione was practically brimming with curiosity and I was waiting for it to explode when the train came to an abrupt halt. She shot up with a gasp. "Germaine, Harry — neither of you've changed into your school robes yet!"

"Right," I said, standing. I was about to kick Harry out when he stood and excused himself, carrying his robes with him. I could feel Hermione's curious eyes on me until I unzipped my jacket, she turned away at that.

"So," said Hermione to break the awkward pause. I didn't know what to do either. I had interacted very little with kids my age (or Germaine's age, whatever) and this was one of the series' main characters: I'd already screwed up Harry's meeting with Ron but if they _were_ meant to be friends, they would be. Nothing would stop that. "Which House do you think you'll be in?"

"Good question," I responded, pulling on my white-button up. "I think... Slytherin? I have an ambition."

"What is it?" asked Hermione, curious.

"I want to find a cure for lycanthropy." I adjusted my tie, checking my reflection in the mirror. I grimaced: I was very short, I looked eight instead of eleven. "I made a promise, after all."

"To who?"

"Someone close to me," I answered, pulling on my robes and turning around to face Hermione. "Which House would you like to be in?"

"Well, Gryffindor sounds promising," said Hermione, turning around to face me. "But Ravenclaw doesn't sound too bad either."

"Ravenclaw is ideal if you wish to succeed in life but true friends, you can only find them in other Houses. I heard from Moony that Ravens would stab their own if it is to succeed."

Surprise rippled across her face. "What? Really?"

"Maybe I'll go into Slytherin," I mused. The place would mostly be filled with pure-blood brats and while they might be snobbish, that meant they wouldn't be hooligans jumping and hooting. Might was right there so if I managed to intimidate them (I was working on that) then they'd listen to me. I wanted a quiet common room where I could do my work and Housemates that knew not to poke their nose in my business. "Yeah," I repeated in a stronger voice, "that's where I want to go."

"But that was where Volde— sorry, You-Know-Who was!"

I shrugged. "Dunno, don't care. It's not like he's still studying there. I don't see the harm and you're judging a book by its cover." I tutted mockingly, slightly curious to see if she'd rise to the bait. "That's very narrow-minded and those sort never rise too far."

Hermione's cheeks flushed.

I strode past her, wondering how much more I should push her until she fell off a cliff. "I'll get Harry."

As it was, the Harry and Ron's friendship was meant to be as I found Harry waiting outside the compartment that belonged to Ron, Neville Longbottom and a sandy-haired boy. "We're done changing, Harry, you coming?"

The green-eyed boy looked relieved when I arrived. He said hurried goodbyes and rushed over to me. "What's wrong?" I asked the instant he was close enough.

"They keep asking questions about my scar," explained Harry quietly. "I don't like it. They act like... like it's a great thing. Like it's so cool to be so famous when..." he trailed off and I knew he was thinking about his parents.

"They'll grow up," I offered, unsure as to what else to say. We returned to the compartment where Hermione was waiting. Nothing was said as the train slowed to a complete halt and the announcer ordered us to leave the trunk here. "Excited?" I asked the two.

Hermione and Harry practically glowed with excitement.

We saw Hagrid waving and ushering us to the boat; as fate would have it, Ron, Hermione, Harry and I were in the same boat. Ron was gazing at Harry with slight awe.

"Red hair, freckles, second-hand robes... Weasley?" I smiled at him, careful to keep my tone colorless as I spoke. Nevertheless, he flushed with embarrassment and mild indignation.

"Yeah. Ron Weasley. You two?"

"Hermione Granger," answered the Muggle-born witch quickly: I guess it was habit to answer everything first.

"Germaine Grindelwald."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I thought it was You-Know-Who's grandkid they were talking about..."

I snorted then burst into laughter. "What? If I really was related to Voldemort, Albus wouldn't have let me enroll. _Puh_-lease." My tone had taken a condescending note to it: Ron flushed redder.

"Don't be mean, Germaine," said Harry.

I rolled my eyes. "I would if he stops being so silly."

"I'm not silly!"

"Yes, you are."

"No."

"Y_eeeeee_ss."

"N_ooooooooo_o."

"Yes."

"NO!"

"No?"

"Yes!"

I caught Harry's eye and we burst into laughter. "Bwa-ha-ha! You're so easy to pick on Ronnie!" Ron looked ready to spring to his feet but everyone turning to look at us stopped him from doing so.

Hagrid's voice called back, "Oi, 'vrythin' awright 'der?"

"We're fine, Hagrid!" Harry shouted back. Reassured, the gamekeeper turned and continued rowing the boat. Ron was miffed and remained stonily silent even as he disembarked; he threw me a scathing glare as I smirked smugly in his face.

"I wonder how the Slytherin's common room looks like," I commented idly.

Ron heard and scoffed. "Yeah, I bet you'd know real soon. You'd totally fit in there with the rest of the Dark Wizards, Grindelwald, you would."

"Thank you," I said, sarcasm dripping. "And I guess you'd be in Gryffindor? A pack of lions that prey on a snake?"

"Why would you want to be in the House Vol- You-Know-Who was in, Germaine?" inquired Harry, a quizzical look on his face. "They say every wizard and witch that go in there went bad."

"Lies," I waved it away. "You heard of Merlin? Venerated as the greatest wizard ever and he wasn't even Dark though he was in Slytherin - and did anyone say he was evil or cruel just because he was in the Slytherin House?" I was only privy to this information thanks to Enid Sneek who came to visit and I had the habit of eavesdropping when the old ladies did their catching up. I wasn't sure how accurate her information was though.

"So not all Slytherins are bad," said Hermione thoughtfully. "And only ambitious people go there?"

"I dream big," I agreed, grinning. "So, what do you say? Are you willing to accompany me on the path to greatness?"

**...**

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><p><strong>TO Anna: <strong>_I'm not sure. But I read that Nurmengard was in Norwegian... I based this off the wiki and maybe Pottermore had updated something but I didn't read up on it. The matter of her House placement is still up to debate. Though it's been narrowed down a lot: Ravenclaw or Slytherin._

**TO Guest: **_Germaine's not up to Bellatrix's level yet I take it. :P_

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><p>Thanks for the 23 reviews, I hope you keep it up!<p> 


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